'She  is  beautiful!'  he  exclaimed."     Page  77. 


A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS 


BY 

« 


HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES. 


I  L  L  U  S  T  R  A.T  EC  D . 


PUBLISHED  BY 
\VoomVARD   &  TtERNAX   PRINTING   CO. 

ST.  Lot-is. 


Kntered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1894,  by 
WOODWARD  &  TIERNAN  PRINTING  COMPANY, 

ST.  LOUIS,  MO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 

ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED. 


tng  beat  (JtXoffler  anb 


2227S27 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
CHAPTER  I. 

Two  ARTISTS 7 

CHAPTER  II. 

DREAMS  AND  SCHEMES 20 

CHAPTER  III. 

AN  HONEST  MAN'S  HONEST  LOVE 31 

CHAPTER  IV. 

IN  THE  SOCIAL  REALM 37 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  IMAGE  OF  BEAUTIFUL  SIN 44 

CHAPTER  vi. 

WHITE  ROSES 52 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CALL  OF  A  SOUL 57 

CHAPTER  yni. 

LIFE'S  NIGHT  WATCH 62 

CHAPTER  IX. 

A  KENTUCKY  STOCK  FARM 68 

•  CHAPTER  x. 

THE  BIRTH  MARK 75 

CHAPTER  xi. 

HEARTS  LAID  BARE 87 

CHAPTER  xn. 

SUNLIGHT 97 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PICTURESQUE  SPORT 103 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

WEDDED 108 

CHAPTER  XV. 

CHLORAL  .  113 


6  CONTENTS. 

Page 
CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  BOLD  INTRUDER 120 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

AN  ERRAND  OF  MYSTERY 130 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A  TIMELY  WARNING 140 

CHAPTER  xix. 

A  PLAINT  OF  PAIN 146 

CHAPTER  XX. 

A  CROP  OF  KISSES 151 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  HOPE  OF  CHANGE 156 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  HOME  IN  THE  SOUTH 160 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  STRANGE  DEPARTURE 172 

CHAPTER  xxiv. 

OF  THE  WORLD,  UNWORLDLY 183 

CHAPTER  xxv. 

TEMPTED 193 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

LOST  FAITH 197 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  CUP  OF  WRATH  AND  TREMBLING  ....  203 
CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A  DROP  OF  POISON 207 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ROBERT'S  TRIUMPH 211 

CHAPTER  xxx. 

SHADOWING  HER 216 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

GONE  219 

CHAPTER  XXXII 

STORMING  THE  LION'S  DEN 222 

CONCLUSION ,    232 


A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TWO  ARTISTS. 

They  were  seated  tete-a-tete  at  a  dinner  table. 

' 'Tell  me  why  you  have  never  married,  Milburn, ' ' 
and  the  steel  eyes  in  Willard  Frost's  face  searched 
through  his  glasses. 

Robert  Milburn 's  answer  was  a  shrug,  and  a  long 
cloud  of  smoke  blown  back  at  the  glowing  end  of 
his  cigar. 

"Tell  me  why,"  persisted  the  keen -eyed  Frost. 

"Because  it  is  too  expensive  a  luxury;  besides, 
a  man  who  has  affianced  a  career  like  mine  must 
take  that  for  his  bride,"  was  Robert's  answer. 

"Admitting  there  is  warmth  and  color  in  some  of 
your  artistic  creations,  old  fellow,  I  should  think 
you  would  find  these  scarcely  available  of  winter 
nights,  eh?" 

Robert  laughed ;  his  laugh  was  short,  though,  and 
bitter.  He  had  taken  keen  pleasure  in  the  cynical 


8  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

worldly  wisdom  and  unsentimental  judgment  of 
this  man. 

"If  you  can't  afford  the  wife,  then  let  the  wife 
afford  you,"  began  Frost's  logical  reasoning. 
"You  have  brain,  muscle  and  youth.  Marry  them 
to  that  necessary  adjunct  which  you  do  not  possess, 
and  which  the  government  refuses  to  supply.  This 
is  perfectly  practical.  The  whole  question  of  mar- 
riage is  too  much  a  matter  of  sentiment ;  too  little 
a  matter  of  judgment.  Now,  the  son  of  a  million- 
aire without  an  idea  above  his  raiment  and  his  club, 
-devoid  of  morals  and  of  brains,  marries  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  silver  king.  What  is  the  result?  A  race 
of  vulgar  imbeciles. ' ' 

Here  Frost,  more  wickedly  practical,  continued: 
"Now,  you  are  of  gentle  blood,  being  fitted  out 
by  nature  with  the  most  unfortunate  combina- 
tion of  attributes.  Nature  has  given  you  much 
more  than  your  share  of  intelligence  and  manly 
beauty,  together  with  most  refined  and  sympathetic 
sensibilities  and  luxurious  tastes,  and  then  has 
placed  you  in  an  orbit  representing  intelligence, 
aristocracy  and  wealth.  Here  she  has  left  you  to 
revolve  with  the  greater  and  lesser  luminaries,  and 
that  with  the  slenderest  of  incomes,  which  is  not  as 
yet  greatly  increased  by  your  profession.  You 
doubtless  find  that  it  requires  considerable  finan- 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  9 

ciering  to  do  these  things  deemed  necessary  to 
maintain  your  position  in  the  constellation." 

"It  is  rather  annoying  to  be  poor,"  Robert 
answered  in  a  carefully  repressed  voice.  A  hard 
sigh  followed,  and  there  flashed  through  him  the 
hot  consciousness  of  the  bitter  truth.  For  that 
special  reason  no  word  had  ever  crossed  his  lips 
that  could,  by  any  means,  be  twisted  into  serious 
suit  with  the  fair  sex.  It  was  generally  accepted 
that  he  was  not  a  "marrying"  man. 

They  were,  both  of  them,  men  who  would  at  first 
sight  interest  a  stranger.  The  younger  of  the  two 
you  might  have  seen  before  if  you  frequented  the 
ultra -fashionable  dinner  parties,  luncheons,  etc., 
of  polite  New  York.  Anywhere,  everywhere,  was 
Robert  Milburn  a  special  guest  and  a  general 
favorite. 

He  was  medium -sized,  delicately  featured,  with 
a  look  of  half -lazy  enthusiasm.  You  would  sejt 
him  down  at  once  as  an  artistic  character ;  at  the 
same  time,  there  was  inAis  make-up  and  bearing, 
that  which  bespeaks  an  ambitious  nature.  His 
companion,  who  appeared  older,  was  a  man  of 
statelier  stamp,  tall  and  sufficiently  athletic.  His 
face  was  well  finished  and  had  a  certain  air  of  self- 
possession,  which  not  a  few  name  self-conceit,  and 
resent  accordingly. 


10  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"All!  Robert,  you  have  entirely  too  much  senti- 
ment, my  boy.  Do  not  waste  yourself.  I  will  cite 
you  a  girl — there's  Frances  Baxter.  True,  she  is 
not  good  looking,  in  fact,  I  presume  quite  a  few 
consider  her  extraordinarily  plain.  But  that  exces- 
sive income  is  worth  your  while  to  aspire  to — such 
a  name  as  Milburn  is  certainly  worth  something. ' ' 

With  an  earnestness  of  tone  and  manner  which 
the  gossipy  nature  of  the  talk  hardly  seemed  to  call 
for,  Robert  nervously  threw  aside  his  crumpled 
napkin  and  looked  sharply  at  his  companion,  say- 
ing: 

"Surely,  then,  I  may  do  something  better  with 
it  than  sell  it. ' ' 

"There,  we  will  not  argue,  I  am  too  wise  to 
oppose  a  man  who  is  laboring  under  the  temporary 
insanity  of  a  love  affair.  I  had  feared  that  you 
were  not  so  level-headed  as  is  your  wont.  Come, 
•\vho  is  the  woman?  Is  it  the  Southern  girl  at  the 
Stanhope's?" 

"Of  whom  do  you  speak?"  asked  Robert,  look- 
ing pale  and  annoyed. 

"Of  Miss  Bell— Cherokee  Bell— to  be  sure." 

"You  honor  me  with  superior  judgment  to  so 
accuse,  wrhether  it  be  true  or  not,"  and  upon  Mil- 
burn's  face  there  was  that  expression  which  tells 
of  what  is  beyond. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  11 

The  other  smiled  meaningly,  and  raised  his 
brows. 

"Ah,  my  dear  boy,"  he  mutely  commented,  "I 
am  sorry  my  supposition  is  true,  but  it  leaves  me 
wiser,  and  no  transparent  scheming  goes." 

"Tell  me  your  opinion  of  her,  Milburn,  I  am 
interested  deeply." 

"Well,  I  have  always  said  she  was  positively 
refreshing,"  began  Robert.  "She  came  upon  us 
to  recall  a  bright  world.  She  came  as  a  revelation 
to  some,  a  reminiscence  to  others,  and  caused  our 
social  Sahara  to  blossom  with  a  suddenly  enriched 
oasis." 

"Yes,  she  has  that  indescribable  lissomeness 
and  grace  which  she  doubtless  inherits  with  her 
Southern  blood.  I  was  attracted,  too,  by  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  hands  and  feet,  of  which  she  is  pardon- 
ably proud.  But  that  scar  or  something  disfigures 
one  hand." 

Robert  spoke  up  quickly:  "That  is  a  birth- 
mark, I  think  it  is  a  fern  leaf." 

"A  birth-mark!  Oh  hopelessly  plebeian,  don't 
you  think?" 

"Your  Miss  Baxter  has  a  very  vivid  one  upon 
her  neck. ' ' 

"I  beg  pardon,  then,  birthmarks  are  just  the 
thing. ' ' 


12  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

Frost  had  commenced  in  a  bantering  mood,  but 
now  and  again  his  voice  would  take  a  more  serious 
tone.  . 

"Joking  apart,  Miss  Bell  is  charming.  She  is, 
thanks  to  God,  a  being  out  of  the  ordinary.  She 
has  a  style  unstinted  and  all  her  own.  I  have 
upon  several  occasions  made  myself  agreeable, 
partly  for  my  own  gratification  and  partly  because  I 
saw  in  her  eyes  that  she  admired  me. ' ' 

Frost  leaned  back  in  intended  mock  conceit,  no 
small  portion  of  which  appeared  genuine. 

Robert  gave  way  to  laughter,  in  which  just  a 
tinge  of  annoyance  might  have  been  detected. 

"She  is  quite  accustomed  to  these  attentions,  for 
all  her  life  adoration  has  been  her  daily  bread." 

"I  should  like  to  know  how  you  are  so  well 
posted?"  asked  Frost,  with  a  dark  flash  in  his  grey 
eyes. 

Robert  Milburn  lifted  his  head  proudly,  and  an- 
swered quietly :  "I  have  known  her  since  she  was 
a  little  slip  of  a  lass. ' ' 

"And  how  did  the  meeting  come  about?  you 
were  brought  up  in  Maryland,  I  believe." 

"True,  but  in  the  early  '80s  I  spent  one  spring 
and  summer  South.  I  was  at  'Ashland.'  You 
know  that  is  the  old  home  of  Henry  Clay.  It  is 
about  in  the  center  of  the  region  of  blue  grass, 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  13 

down  in  Kentucky.  Clay's  great  grandson,  by 
marriage,  Major  McDowell,  owns  this  historic 
place.  He  is  a  well-mannered  and  distinguished 
host,  and  allowed  me  to  fancy  myself  an  artist  then, 
and  I  made  some  sketches  of  his  horses — he  is  a 
celebrated  stock  breeder." 

"How  I  should  enjoy  seeing  a  good  stock  farm; 
that  is  one  pleasure  I  am  still  on  this  side  of," 
put  in  Willard.  "Go  on,  I  meant  not  to  interrupt 
you." 

"The  Major  often  saddled  two  of  his  fine  steppers 
and  invited  me  to  ride  over  the  country  with  him. 
It  was  upon  one  of  these  jaunts  that  I  met  the  girl. 
It  happened  in  this  way:  We  were  in  the  blue 
grass  valley  just  this  side  of  the  mountainous  region. 
A  turn -row,  running  through  a  field  of  broken  sod 
was  our  route,  to  avoid  a  dangerous  creek  ford. 
With  heartsome  calls  and  chirruping,  six  plowmen 
went  up  and  down  the  long  rows.  The  light  earth, 
creaming  away  from  the  bright  plowshare,  heaped 
upon  their  bare  feet.  I  thought,  'What  is  so  deli- 
cious as  the  feel  of  it — yielding,  cool,  electrical, 
fresh.'  We  stopped  to  watch  them.  They  tramped 
sturdily  behind  the  mules,  one  hand  upon  the  plow- 
handle,  the  other  wrapped  about  with  the  line  that 
ran  to  the  beast's  head.  Presently,  they  all  fell  to 
singing  a  song — a  relic,  it  must  have  been,  from  the 


14  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

old  care -free  days.  Over  and  over  they  chanted 
the  rude  lilt,  and  their  voices  were  mildly  sweet. 
We  stopped  to  listen,  for  their  song  was  like  no 
other  melodies  under  the  sun." 

"But  where  does  the  girl  come  in?  I  expected 
to  hear  something  of  her,"  interrupted  Willard, 
with  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Oh,  yes!  She  is  just  down  a  trifle  farther  in 
the  pasture  lands  with  an  'ole  Auntie.'  The  Major 
addressed  the  negress  as  'Aunt  Judy.'  They  were 
welcoming  the  new  comer — a  calf.  The  Auntie 
wore  a  bandana  and  a  coarse  cotton  print,  over 
which  was  a  thin,  diamond -shaped  shawl.  Her 
subdued  face  was  brown — the  brown  of  tobacco — 
and  her  weary  eyes  stole  quick,  wondering  glances 
at  us,  and  instinctively  she  took  the  child's  hand, 
as  if  to  be  sure  she  was  safe. 

"Now  I  come  to  Cherokee — let  me  try  to  describe 
her  to  you.  In  coloring,  delicacy,  freshness,  she 
was  a  flower.  Her  hair  was  combed  straight  back, 
but  it  was  perversely  curly;  and  the  short  hairs 
around  her  forehead  had  a  fashion  of  falling  loosely 
about,  which  was  very  pretty.  She  was  slim,  her 
drooping -lashed  eyes  wore  a  soft  seriousness.  She 
at  once  chained  my  vagrant  fancy  and  I  promised 
myself  that  would  not  be  the  only  time  I  should 
look  upon  her.  On  the  homeward  way  the  Major 


A    FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  15 

told  me  she  was  the  only  child  of  Darwin  Bell,  an 
excellent  man.  A  man  of  good  blood,  good  sense 
and  piety,  'but  the  best  of  all,'  continued  the 
Major,  'he  was  a  gallant  Confederate  captain.' 

"Then  he  happened  to  recall  the  fact  that  I  was 
of  the  other  side  and  said:  'I  beg  your  pardon 
young  man,  but  Darwin  and  I  were  army  mates, 
and  that  eulogy  was  but  a  heart-throb.' 

"He  had  quite  a  little  to  tell  of  the  negress.  She 
was  Cherokee's  'black  mammy,'  and  her  faithful- 
ness was  a  striking  illustration  of  the  devotion  of 
the  slaves.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  most  callous 
man  or  woman  could  not  fail  to  appreciate  little 
touches,  here  and  there,  of  the  sweet  kindly  feeling 
that  nestles  close  to  the  core  of  honest  human 
hearts.  I  went  home  that  night  in  a  softer  mood." 

"Softer  in  more  senses  than  one,  I  judge,  also 
poorer,"  Frost  returned,  amusedly. 

"You  mean  I  had  lost  my  heart?"  the  other  asked 
in  an  odd  tone. 

"To  be  sure,  but  tell  me  more  of  Miss  Bell,  she 
is  very  like  a  serial  story,  and  I  want  awfully  to 
read  the  next  chapters." 

"Then  you  must  learn  the  sequel  from  her." 

"That  is  not  quite  fair  of  you,  but  I  have  a  mind 
to;  in  fact,  I  know  I  cannot  resist  cultivating  your 
blonde  amaryllis,  if  you  don't  object?" 


16  A   FOOIy   IN   SPOTS. 

Willard  Frost  smiled  half-chaffingly,  and  quite 
enjoyed  the  expression  of  surprise  and  anxiety  upon 
his  companion's  face. 

"That  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost  indifference  to 
me,"  was  the  icy  answer.  The  speaker's  hand,  as 
it  lay  on  the  table,  opened  and  shut  in  a  quick 
nervous  fashion,  which  showed  that  he  was  more 
annoyed  than  he  looked,  whereupon  Frost  waxed 
more  eloquent  and  earnest. 

"I  mean  to  enter,  though  well  I  know,  when 
love  is  a  game  of  three,  one  heart  can  win  but 
pain. ' ' 

"But  that  would  surely  be  mine,  for  what  chance 
has  a  poor  devil  of  an  artist  like  me  with  the  invin- 
cible Frost?" 

"I  come  under  the  same  heading,"  returned 
Willard,  "I  am  an  artist  too." 

"Yes,  but  it  would  keep  me  in  a  desperate  rush 
to  run  ahead  of  you — you  the  prince  of  the  swagger 
set,  a  member  of  half  a  dozen  clubs,  owner  of  the 
smartest  of  four-in-hands,  a  capital  dinner-giver, 
and  a  first-rate  host,  and,  accompanying  these,  a 
plethoric  purse  to  make  all  hospitalities  easy. ' ' 

As  Robert  spoke,  Frost  poured  out  the  last  of 
the  second  bottle  of  champagne  and  looked  care- 
lessly at  the  bill  for  it,  which  the  waiter  had  pre- 
sented to  the  other. 


A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS.  17 

"Suppose  you  find  you  a  champion  to  do  your 
battle — a  John  Alden  ? ' ' 

"He  might  do  as  Alden  did,  and  keep  the  prize. 
My  chum,  Latham,  is  the  only  one  I  dare  trust  to 
win  and  divide  spoils,  and  he  is  abroad  now,  you 
know." 

"Right  glad  I  am,  for  Marrion  Latham  is  a  mar- 
vellous success  with  womankind.  Still,  I  want 
some  one  to  oppose  me,  for  no  game  is  worth  a 'rap 
for  a  rational  man  to  play  unless  he  has  competi- 
tion"— this  with  decided  emphasis. 

'  'What's  the  matter  with  Fred  Stanhope?  I  think 
he  will  make  it  interesting  for  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  want  a  man,  not  a  sissy.  He  is  just  the 
son  of  Mr.  Stanhope.  He  hasn't  enough  sense  to 
grease  gimlets.  He  is  a  rich -born  freak,  and  I 
think  he  has  set  out  to  make  a  condign  idiot  of 
himself,  in  the  briefest,  directest  manner,  and  he 
will  doubtless  succeed.  I  prefer  you  for  a  rival. ' ' 

"But  Frost,  I  would  be  powerless,  quite  power- 
less, with  you  in  the  field." 

"Ah,  you  idealize  me,  make  me  too  great  a 
hero,"  answered  Frost,  quite  pleased  within  him- 
self. 

"Not  a  hero,"  spoke  Robert  slowly,  "but  a 
smooth  calculating  man  of  the  period,  just  the 
manner  of  man  to  take  with  that  type  of  woman. 


18  A   FOOIv  IN   SPOTS. 

She,  this  charming,  intense  creature,  is  so  innocent, 
so  'un- woke -up',  I  might  say." 

"I  am  a  holy  terror  at  awakening  one,  and  if 
there  is  any  money  with  it  I  shall  exert  myself  to  • 
arouse  her. ' ' 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  Frost  paused 
and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Has  she  any  plantations,  stock  farms,  and  the 
like?  You  seem  so  well  up  in  her  history." 

"No,  with  the  exception  of  a  thousand  dollars  or 
so,  she  is  absolutely  without  means." 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Frost,  flippantly.  "You 
and  your  John  Alden  may  open  negotiations  for 
her  beauty  and  innocence,  but  they  are  too  tame 
for  me. ' ' 

"You  are  a  fisherman,  Frost,  and  if  you  can't 
catch  a  whale  you  catch  a  trout,  and  if  you  can't 
catch  a  trout  you  would  whip  in  the  shallows  for 
the  poor  little  minnows. ' ' 

"Minnows  have  their  use  as  bait,"  returned  the 
other,  with  a  meaning  smile. 

"But  not  to  catch  whales  with,  and  you  direct  the 
training  of  my  harpoon  toward  a  big  haul,  yet  you 
can  stop  to  fish  where  you  get  but  a  nibble  ?  What 
a  peculiar  adviser — rather  inconsistent,  don't  you 
think?"  observed  Robert,  with  a  cynical  sense  of 
amusement.  "I  shall  keep  an  eye  on  you." 


A   FOOL   IN  SPOTS.  i9 

"And  I  shall  keep  an  eye  on  that  fact,"  muttered 
Frost  to  himself  when  he  had  left  his  friend.  "It 
is  not  much,  but  it  would  answer  the  small  demands 
of  an  honest  girl.  I  will  see  about  that  thousand 
dollars." 


20  A  FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DREAMS  AND   SCHEMES. 

Willard  Frost's  observations  rang  in  Robert  Mil- 
burn's  ear,  not  without  effect,  as  he  walked  to  his 
room  that  evening,  albeit,  his  conscience  refuted  the 
arguments.  He  whiled  away  an  hour  or  more 
piecing  together  the  broken  threads  of  their  discus- 
sion. Frost  had  said,  and  in  truth,  that  Miss  Bax- 
ter was  the  richest  prize  of  the  season.  She  had 
turned  all  heads  with  her  fabulous  wealth.  He  had 
said,  "A  union  of  wealth  and  genius  is  as  it  should 
be."  That  speech  had  a  mild  influence  over  Rob- 
ert. There  was  something  very  soothing  and  agree- 
able to  be  called  a  rising  genius,  and,  then,  the 
thought  that  other  men  would  be  gnashing  their 
teeth  was  a  stimulant  to  his  vanity. 

Miss  Baxter  was  a  sharp  girl,  and  she  had  an 
exquisite  figure  which  she  dressed  with  the  best  of 
taste.  What  if  her  nose  was  a  trifle  snub,  and  her 
mouth  verging  on  the  coarse,  she  had  a  large  capi- 
tal to  contribute  to  a  copartnership. 

But  when  love,  or  whatever  else  by  a  less  pretty 
name  we  may  call  the  emotion  which  stirs  within 


A   FOOI,  IN   SPOTS.  21 

us,  responsive  to  the  glance  or  touch  of  a  woman, 
sweeps  man's  nature  as  the  harpist  the  strings  of 
his  harp,  all  thoughts  pass  under  the  dominion  of 
the  master  passion ;  even  the  thought  of  self,  with 
all  its  impudent  assertiveness,  changes  its  accus- 
tomed force,  and  sinks  to  a  secondary  place. 

Love  is  a  disturber  and  routs  philosophy,  and  as 
for  matrimony,  Robert  rather  agreed  with  the 
philosopher  who  said,  "You  will  regret  it  whether 
you  marry  or  not. ' '  An  old  painter  had  once  told 
him  that  in  bringing  too  much  comfort  and  luxury 
into  the  home  of  the  artist,  it  frightened  inspiration. 

"Art,"  he  said,  "needs  either  solitude,  poverty 
or  passion ;  too  warm  an  atmosphere  suffocates  it. 
It  is  a  mountain  wind-flower  that  blooms  fairest  in 
a  sterile  soil." 

From  the  scene -house  of  Robert's  memory  came 
visions  strangely  sweet ;  they  came  like  the  lapse 
of  fading  lesson  days,  gemmed  here  and  there  with 
joys,  and  crimsoned  all  over  with  the  silken  sup- 
pleness of  youth  and  its  delights. 

Again  the  glamour  of  gold  and  green  lay  over  the 
warm  South  earth.  New  leaves  danced  out  in  the 
early  sunshine,  dripping  sweet  odors  upon  all  below. 
Robins  in  full  song  made  vocal  the  budding  hedge- 
rows from  under  which  peeped  the  hasty  gold  of 
the  crocus  flower.  By  fence  and  field  peach  trees 


22      ,  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

up -flushed  in  rosy  growth,  and  the  wild  plum's 
scented  snowing  made  all  the  days  afaint  and  fair. 
And  again  the  woods  were  brave  in  summer  green  - 
ery ;  hawthorn — dogwood,  stood  bridal  all  in  white. 

Matted  honeysuckle,  that  opened  as  if  by  magic 
in  the  dewless,  stirless  night,  arched  above  a  gar- 
den gate,  wherefrom,  with  hasty  thrift,  tall  lilacs 
framed  a  girl  in  wreathen  bloom. 

From  the  moment  the  gleam  of  that  sweet  face  of 
hers  touched  him,  the  world,  he  felt,  would  lose  its 
luster  if  Cherokee  did  not  smile  on  him,  and  him 
alone,  of  all  the  world  of  men. 

All  the  wealth,  fashion  and  talent  of  the  rest  of 
women  in  their  totality,  were  of  no  more  meaning 
to  him  than  the  floating  of  motes  in  the  great  sun- 
beam of  his  love  for  this  girl.  This  fact  made  all 
other  resolutions  impossible — glaringly  impossible. 

With  this  honest  conviction  in  his  manly  breast 
he  went  to  bed,  and  the  blessed  visitor  of  peace 
placed  fingers  upon  his  eyelids  to  keep  watch  until 
the  morrow. 


Two  ladies,  in  loose  but  becoming  morning  gowns, 
sat,  at  the  fashionable  hour  of  eleven,  breakfasting 
in  a  dainty  boudoir  in  an  extension  to  a  fine  resi- 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  23 

dence  on  Fifth  Avenue.  The  table,  a  low  square 
table  covered  with  whitest  linen,  was  set  before  a 
great  open  fireplace,  where  gas  gave  forth  flashes  of 
lurid  lights  which  were  refracted  by  the  highly 
polished  surface  of  the  silver  tray,  teapot,  sugar 
and  creamer. 

The  elder  lady  had  the  morning  paper  in  her  lap 
and  she  sat  sipping  her  tea.  She  scarcely  looked 
her  four  and  forty.  Youth  was  past,  but  the  charm 
of  gracious  maturity  lay  in  her  clear  glance  and 
about  the  soft  smiling  mouth.  The  girl  had  turned 
her  easy  chair  away  from  the  table,  perching  her 
pretty  feet  on  the  brass  rail  of  the  fender.  Her 
aristocratic  brown -blonde  head  was  bending  over 
the  Herald. 

"Here  is  another  puff  about  Willard  Frost,  the 
portrait  painter,"  she  said  complacently.  "He  has 
become  the  rage ;  I  suppose  the  fact  that  he  is  a 
romantic  figure  of  an  unconventional  type  is  one 
reason  as  well  as  his  artistic  qualities." 

"And,  too,  because  he  is  unmarried,"  said  the 
elderly  lady.  "Society  is  strange,  and  when  the 
gods  marry  they  lose  caste.  If  he  should  bring 
home  one  day  a  beautiful  wife,  I  fancy  few  women 
would  care  about  sitting  for  portraits  then." 

"I  cannot  understand  that;  why  is  it?"  inquired 
the  girl,  innocently. 


24  A  FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

"Because  women  declare  against  women.  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  if  they  were  already  angry 
with  you." 

"Why?" 

"I  have  thought  that  he  fancied  you  and  showed 
you  preference." 

"He  has  been  quite  nice,  but  I  thought  it  was 
generally  understood  that  he  would  make  love  to 
Miss  Baxter. ' ' 

"I  may  be  wrong,  but  I  sometimes  imagine  you 
like  him,  and  I  do  not  blame  you  either,  my  dear; 
many  a  girl  has  married  less  attractive  men  than 
your  artist. ' ' 

"Oh,  he  is  handsome,  has  a  magnificent  build, 
and  that  voice — "  murmured  the  girl,  clasping  her 
hands  over  her  knee  and  looking  into  the  fire. 

The  other  watched  her  intently  and  said  slowly : 
' '  I  had  hoped  to  save  you  for  my  boy — he  is  our 
best  gift  from  God,  and  you — come  next." 

The  girl  smiled  softly,  "Oh,  Fred  doesn't  care 
for  me;  he  says  I  remind  him  of  hay  fields  and 
yielding  clover.  I  take  it  that  he  means  I  am  too 
'fresh,'  "  observed  the  girl,  half  seriously. 

Not  at  all ;  what  is  purer  and  sweeter  than  to  be 
forest-bred?  Why,  after  all  these  long  years,  I 
tire  of  my  city  fostering  and  long  for  the  South 
country  where  your  mother  and  I  grew  into  woman- 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  25 

hood.  And  while  Fred  chaffs  you  about  being  a 
country  girl,  he  is  really  proud  of  you.  He  often 
talks  to  me:  'Why,  mother,'  he  tells  me,  'I  never 
saw  anything  like  it;  as  soon  as  she  appeared 
she  shone;  a  sudden  brightness  fills  the  place 
wherever  she  goes;  a  softened  splendor  comes 
around.'  And  dear,  I  am  not  blind,  I  see  you  are 
besieged  by  smiles  and  light  whispered  loves — you 
hold  all  hearts  in  that  sweet  thrall;  you  are  the 
bright  flame  in  which  many  moths  burn." 

"You  are  both  very,  very,  kind — Fred  and  you" 
— Here  she  was  interrupted  by  a  maid  entering 
with  a  card. 

"Mr.  Willard  Frost." 

"Ah,  Cherokee,  what  did  I  tell  you?  He  has 
even  taken  the  liberty  of  calling  at  unconventional 
hours." 

As  Frost  waited  below  he  nervously  moved  about ; 
there  was  a  sort  of  sub -conscious  discomfort,  as  of 
one  whose  clothes  are  a  misfit.  The  least  sound 
added  to  his  uneasy  feeling. 

"Am  I  actually  in  love  with  her?"  he  asked,  "or 
does  her  maidenly  and  becoming  coyness  excite  my 
surfeited  passion?  Is  it  something  that  will  burn 
off  at  a  touch,  like  a  lighted  sedge-field,"  he 
reflected.  "Would  I  marry  her  if  I  could?  Well, 
what's  the  difference?  The  part  I  have  undertaken 


26  A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

is  a  good  one ;  I  will  see  it  through  and  risk  the 
winning. ' ' 

When  Cherokee  appeared  he  thought  her  lovelier 
than  ever.  He  looked  hungrily  at  her  fair,  high- 
bred face,  her  enigmatical  smile  that  might  mean 
so  much  or  so  little.  She  gave  him  her  hand  in 
kindly  welcome. 

"You  will  pardon  my  stupidity  to-day,  for  I 
shouldn't  have  come  feeling  so  badly,  and  I  should 
not  have  come  at  all  had  I  not  wanted  a  kind  word 
of  sympathy,"  he  said,  when  the  first  salutations 
were  received. 

"You  did  quite  right,"  she  answered,  "burdens 
shared  are  easier  carried.  What  is  your  trouble?" 

"I  would  not  confide  in  many,  but  somehow  I 
have  always  felt  we  were  vastly  more  than  common 
friends.  Do  you  feel  that  way  about  it?"  he  asked, 
in  weighing  tones. 

"I  take  great  delight  in  your  companionship," 
she  told  him,  frankly. 

"And  it  is  these  subtle,  intelligent  sympathies 
which  make  you  most  dangerously  charming.  Now, 
I  have  a  question ;  do  not  answer  me  if  you  think 
it  wrong  of  me  to  ask,  but  did  you  ever  like  a  man 
so  well  that  you  fancied  yourself  married  to  him  ? ' ' 

She  laughed  a  care -free,  girlish  laugh. 
Why  no ,  now  that  you  ask ,  I '  m  sure  I  never  did . " 


A    FOOIv   IN   SPOTS.  27 

Then  there  was  a  long,  uncomfortable  pause, 
broken  by  saying :  "Ah,  well,  there's  time  enough, 
only  be  sure  that  you  know  your  heart,  if  you  have 
any;  have  you?" 

She  laughed  again  her  gay  little  laugh.  "I'll 
tell  him  that  if  he  ever  comes." 

He  had  a  far-away  look,  and  breathed  long  and 
deeply.  Suddenly  he  spoke  up. 

"Dearest  love,"  taking  both  her  hands  and  look- 
ing with  gravity  into  her  face,  "I  did  not  mean  to 
say  it  yet,  but  I  must.  I  love  you — I  love  you — 
and  I  would  show  it  in  a  thousand  ways.  Be  my 
wife." 

She  listened  to  each  word  intently,  her  face 
neither  flushed  nor  paled.  .She  spoke  very  deliber- 
ately: "I — your  wife,  Mr.  Frost?  No.  You  inter- 
est me,  but  if  I  care  for  you,  there  is  something 
that  mars  its  fullness.  Forgive  me  for  saying  it 
plainly,  but  I  do  not  love  you." 

"But,  little  woman,  you  cannot  but  awaken  to  it 
sometime.  It  is  a  heart  of  stone  that  will  not 
warm  to  the  touch  of  such  love  as  mine.  Love  is 
dependent  upon  contact;  we  are  only  the  wires 
through  which  the  current  throbs — lifeless  before 
they  are  touched,  and  listless  when  sundered." 

He  attempted  to  take  her  in  his  arms,  but  she 
slipped  from  his  embrace,  and  naively  replied,  "If 


28  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

that's  your  theory,  there's  one  remedy:  I'll  break 
your  circuit. ' ' 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  tangle  of  weakness  and 
strength  in  woman?"  he  asked  himself.  He  bit 
his  lips  and  marvelled ;  he  had  again  been  thwarted. 
Pretty  soon  he  leaned  heavily  on  the  table,  and 
looked  the  embodiment  of  despair. 

"What  makes  you  so  gloomy?"  asked  Cherokee, 
sweetly. 

"Because  I  am  a  lost  and  ruined  man.  I  never 
felt  quite  so  alone  and  friendless." 

"Why  friendless?  Tell  me  what  it  is  that  makes 
you  so  downhearted?"  Her  tones  were  well  cal- 
culated to  reassure  him. 

"I  am  suffering  from  the  inevitable  misery  which, 
as  a  ghost,  follows  the  erring,"  he  said,  and  his 
voice  was  hard. 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,  Mr.  Frost,  that  I  may 
be  in  sympathy  with  you." 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  all,"  raising  a  face  that 
looked  worn  and  worried.  "There  is  nothing  of 
sentiment  in  my  misfortune ;  as  rascally  old  Panurge 
used  to  put  it,  'I  am  troubled  with  a  disease  known 
as  a  plentiful  lack  of  money. ' ' 

"Why,  Mr.  Frost,  I  thought  you  were  rich;  the 
world  takes  it  that  way. ' ' 

"I  did  possess  a  fair  competency  until  two  weeks 


'  He  has  become  the  rajte.'  "     Page  23. 


A   FOOL    IN   SPOTS.  29 

ago,  but  an  unfortunate  investmer^  'n  Reading 
swept  it  away  like  thistledown  in  tlu.  wind.  The 
friends  to  whom  I  could  apply  for  aid  are  in  the 
same  boat.  For  one  of  them,  I,  very  like  the  fool 
Antonio,  have  gone  security  for  a  thousand  dollars. 
To-morrow  that  must  be  paid  else  I  lose  my  pound 
of  flesh,  which,  taken  literally,  means  my  studio, 
pictures,  and,  wdrst  of  all,  my  reputation." 

"And  you  call  yourself  a  fool  for  helping  a 
friend ;  I  am  surprised  at  that. ' ' 

"You  are  right.  I  shouldn't  feel  that  way,  for 
he  is  noble  beyond  the  common ;  his  faults,  such 
as  they  are,  have  been  more  hurtful  to  himself  than 
to  others."  Frost  spoke  magnanimously. 

"Who  is  the  friend?"  she  asked,  so  impulsively 
that  it  bore  no  trace  of  impertinence. 

"Pardon  me,  but  I  would  not  mention  his  name; 
however,  you  know  him  quite  well." 

Cherokee  turned  her  face  full  upon  him  and 
asked  bravely:  "Will  you  let  me  help  you  both?" 

He  appeared  startled:  "You  little  woman,  you! 
What  on  earth  could  you  do  but  be  grieved  at  a 
friend's  misfortune?"  She  little  knew  that  all  this 
was  but  to  abuse  that  intense,  fond,  clinging 
sympathy. 

"I  have  fourteen  hundred  in  my  own  name,  will 
you  use  part  of  that?" 


30  A   FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 

"Great  heavens,  no.  I  would  become  a  beggar 
first!" 

"But  if  I  insist,  and  it  will  save  you  and — him?" 

Willard  Frost  sat  for  a  time  without  speaking ; 
apparently  he  was  weighing  some  profound  subject. 
At  last  he  looked  up  and  gathered  Cherokee's 
hands  in  his. 

"I  appreciate  the  spirit  that  prompts  you  to  make 
this  heroic  offer  to  me.  When  will  you  need  this 
money?" 

"Not  for  two  months  yet,  I  expect  to  spend  the 
winter  in  'Frisco'  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stanhope." 

"Are  you  absolutely  in  earnest  about  our  using 
it?" 

"Never  was  more  in  earnest  in  my  lifetime,"  she 
answered,  solemnly. 

"Then  I  will  take  it,  though  I  feel  humbled  to 
the  very  dust  to  think  of  these  little  hands  saving 
me." 

He  bent  and  kissed  them  as  reverently  as  though 
she  had  been  his  patron  saint.  As  she  gave  him 
the  check  for  one  thousand  dollars,  Cherokee 
thought  his  trembling  hands  told,  but  too  well,  of 
humbled  pride. 

"That  was  a  stroke  of  genius — a  decided  stroke 
of  genius,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  passed  into 
the  club  house  that  day. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  31 

CHAPTER   III. 

AN   HONEST  MAN'S   HONEST  LOVE. 

It  was  far  into  twilight  when  Robert  Milburn  rang 
the  bell  at  the  Stanhopes.  He  had  called  to  escort 
them  to  the  closing  ball  of  the  Manhattan  season. 

"I  have  not  seen  you  for  more  than  a  week, 
Robert.  I  fear  you  have  been  worrying  or  working 
too  hard,"  said  Cherokee,  looking  at  him  search - 
ingly  and  anxiously. 

"Ah,  not  working  any  more  than  I  should,  yet 
there  has  been  a  terrible  weight  on  my  mind — a 
crushing  weight. ' ' 

"Then,  let  us  remain  at  home  to-night;  I  prefer 
it." 

"You  must  have  read  my  mind,  I  wanted  so  much 
to  stay,  but  the  fear  of  cheating  you  of  pleasure 
kept  me  from  suggesting  it. " 

So  it  was  agreed  upon  that  they  would  not  go  to 
the  ball. 

"Now  tell  me  what  makes  you  overtax  your 
strength?"  said  Cherokee,  sweetly  and  solicitously. 

"I  must  get  on  in  my  profession,  so  that  one 
day  you  will  be  proud  of  me."  His  enthusiasm 
inspired  her. 


32  A  FOOI,   IN   SPOTS. 

"I  am  that  already,  and  shall  never  cease  to  hope 
for  you  and  be  proud  of  your  many  successes.  A 
great  future  is  waiting  to  claim  you,  Mr.  Milburn." 

"Not  unless  that  future's  arm  can  hold  both  of 
us,  Cherokee,  for  you  are  still  all  I  really  want 
praise  from — all  I  fear  in  the  blaming.  But,  sweet- 
heart, you  have  dropped  me  as  a  child  throws  away 
a  toy  when  it  is  weary.  When  Frost  told  me  he 
had  been  here  it  started  afresh  some  thoughts  that 
I  find  lurking  about  my  mind  so  often  of  late. ' ' 

Did  her  bowed  head  mean  an  effort  to  hide  a  face 
that  told  too  much? 

' '  I  believe  you  are  sorry  he  is  not  with  you  here 
now. ' ' 

She  laid  her  hand  in  playful  reproach  upon  his 
lips.  "Sorry,  you  foolish  boy!  I  am  glad  you 
are  here,  isn't  that  enough?" 

"I  hope  so;  forgive  me,  Cherokee,  but  you  do 
not  know  the  world.  It  is  deeper,  darker,  wider, 
than  you  have  ever  dreamed,  and  there  are  some 
very  queer  people  in  it.  I  shall  keep  my  eyes  open, 
and  if  I  can  help  it,  you  shall  never  know  it  as  I  do. ' ' 

"Why,  what  harm  can  come  to  me?  What  could 
the  world  have  against  me?"  and  her  innocent  face 
looked  hurt. 

"Nothing,  except  your  beauty  and  purity,  and 
either  is  a  dangerous  charge.  I  wish  you  could 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  33 

have  always  lived  among  the  bees  and  bloomings, 
with  the  South  country  folk. ' ' 

Why ,  do  you  find  it  annoying  to  have  me  near  ? ' ' 

"No,  but  very  annoying  to  have  you  near  others 
I  know.  I  cannot  quite  understand  some  men — for 
instance,  Willard  Frost." 

"I  think  he  is  a  very  warm  friend  of  yours." 

"Probably  so,  probably  so.  But,  Cherokee,  tell 
me,  in  truth,  do  you  love  him?" 

"I  do  not,"  she  answered,  promptly,  and  there 
was  nothing  in  her  eyes  but  truth. 

"My  God,"  Robert  cried  within  him,  "you  have 
been  merciful.  Cherokee,  listen  to  me — I  know 
you  already  understand  what  I  am  about  to  say : 
You  have  known  from  the  first  that  you  are  the 
greatest  of  what  there  is  in  my  life.  There  is  no 
joy  through  all  the  day  but  that  it  brings  with  it  a 
desire  to  share  it  with  you.  I  often  awake  with 
your  half -spoken  name  on  my  lips,  as  though,  when 
I  slipped  through  the  portals  of  unconsciousness 
into  the  world  of  reality,  I  came  only  to  find  you, 
as  a  frightened  child  awakes  and  calls  feebly  for  its 
mother.  I  look  to  your  love  for  the  sweetness  of 
home.  I  need  you;  can  you  say  'We  need  each 
other?'  " 

The  adoration  he  expressed  for  her  filled  her  with 
innocent  wonder  and  gratitude.  His  overpowering 


34  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

love  and  worship  for  her  startled  her  by  its  force 
into  a  sweet  shame,  a  hesitating  fear.  She  was 
looking  at  him  with  her  eyes  softly  opening 
and  closing,  like  the  eyes  of  a  startled  doe,  as 
though  the  wonder  and  delight  were  too  great  to  be 
taken  in  at  once. 

At  length  she  made  answer,  hesitatingly,  "And 
— this — beautiful — love — is — for — me  ? ' ' 

"It  is  all  for  you,"  he  said,  tenderly. 

"Robert,  there  is  a  feeling  for  you  which  I  think 
is  a  part  of  my  soul,  but  I  do  not  know  that  it  is 
love.  It  came  to  me — this  feeling — so  long  ago  that 
I  believe  that  it  has  a  seven -years'  claim.  It  was 
far  back  yonder,  when  I  played  at  "camping  out" 
under  the  broad  white  tents  that  the  dogwoods 
pitched  in  the  forest.  I  spent  hours  and  hours  in 
my  play  making  clover  chains  to  reach  from  my 
heart  to  yours — ' ' 

Here  he  interrupted  her.  "And  it  did  reach  me, 
finding  fertile  soil  in  which  to  grow.  Tell  me  you 
have  kept  your  part  alive. ' ' 

"I  cannot  tell  yet,  I  am  going  to  test  it.  I  believe 
I  will  imagine  you  feeling  the  morning  kiss  of  Miss 
Baxter,  and  watching  her  good -night  smile,  and 
see  if  I  would  care." 

"Please  do,  but  tell  me  why  you  said  Miss  Bax- 
ter? Why  not  any  other  lady  of  my  acquaintance?" 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  35 

"I  suppose  it  is  because  I  often  hear  that  you  are 
awfully  fond  of  her. ' ' 

"That  is  not  true,  my  dearest.  I  like  her  for  the 
reason  she  thinks  worlds  of  Marrion  Latham,  the 
dramatist.  By  the  way,  I  had  such  a  good  letter 
from  him  to-day,  so  full  of  wonderful  sympathy  and 
friendship.  I  have  often  told  him  of  you.  I  love 
that  fellow.  He  knew  I  loved  you  before  you  did, 
I  guess.  You  know,  men  in  their  friendships  are 
trustful,  they  impose  great  confidences  in  each  other, 
and  are  frank  and  outspoken.  Even  the  solid,  prac- 
tical outside  world  recognizes  the  bonds  of  such 
faith,  and  looks  with  contempt  upon  the  man  who, 
having  parted  with  his  friend,  reveals  secrets  which 
have  been  told  him  under  the  sacred  profession  of 
friendship."  . 

"Why  is  it,  Robert,  that  women  cannot  be  true, 
or  a  man  and  woman  cannot  form  a  lasting,  loyal 
friendship  ? ' ' 

"The  first  case,  jealousy  or  envy  breaks;  the 
second  generally  ends  in  one  falling  in  love  with 
the  other,  and  that  spoils  it,"  he  explained. 

She  looked  up  archly:  "Which  will  be  the  most 
enduring,  your  friendship  for  Marrion,  or  your  love 
forme?" 

"Please  God  that  both  shall  last  always,"  he 
answered,  with  reverence. 


36  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

"How  good  it  seems  to  hear  you  say  that." 
Then  she  impulsively  held  out  her  hands  saying : 
"I  do  care." 

Robert,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  at  the  mad 
audacity  of  his  act,  bent  down  to  taste  from  the  calyx 
of  that  flower -face  the  sweet  intoxication  of  the  first 
kiss.  The  worried  look  had  gone  out  of  his  face. 

"So  you  will  wait  for  me  until  I  have  made  a 
name  that  will  grace  you !  How  brave  of  you  to 
make  me  that  promise.  Cherokee  are  you  all  mine? 
Then  there  are  only  two  more  things  required  in 
this — the  sanction  of  the  State,  and  the  blessing  of 
God.  May  He  keep  a  watch  over  both  our  lives." 

"I  pray  that  your  wish  be  granted,"  she  mur- 
mured, with  a  tender  voice. 

"Now,  my  little  woman,  be  very  careful  of  the 
people  you  meet.  Unfortunately,  one  forgets  some- 
times when  one  is  in  danger.  You  are  a  woman, 
sweet,  passionate  and  kind ;  just  the  favorite  prey. ' ' 

She  looked  at  him  intently,  as  if  endeavoring  to 
divine  his  underlying  thoughts. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sweetheart?" 

He  knew  by  the  tremor  in  her  voice  she  was  hurt. 

"I  mean,  dear,  that  lions  are  admitted  into  the 
fold  because  they  are  tame  lions — look  out  for 
them." 

The  next  moment  he  was  gone. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  37 


CHAPTER   IV. 
IN  THE;  SOCIAL  REALM. 

Carriages,  formed  in  double  ranks  by  the  police, 
lined  the  pavement  of  several  blocks  on  —  —  street, 
and  from  them  alighted,  as  each  carriage  made  a 
brief  stop  at  the  entrance,  men  and  women  of 
fashion,  enveloped  in  heavy  wraps,  for  the  night 
was  cold.  Beneath  the  heavy  opera  coats,  seal- 
skins, etc.,  ball  dresses  were  visible,  and  feet 
encased  in  fur -lined  boots  caught  the  eyes  of  those 

who  stood  watching  the  guests  of  the ball  as 

they  entered  the  building. 

Music  filled  the  vast  dance -hall.  High  up  in  the 
galleries  musicians  were  stationed,  who  toiled 
away  at  their  instruments,  furnishing  enlivening 
strains  of  waltzes  or  polkas  for  the  dancers.  To 
the  right,  adown  corridors  of  arched  gold,  the 
reception  rooms  were  filled  with  metropolitan  but- 
terflies. 

The  scene  was  an  interesting  study.  Foremost 
of  all  could  be  noticed  the  voluptuous  freedom  of 
manner,  though  the  picturesque  grace  of  the  lead- 
ing lights  was  never  wholly  lost.  They  were  dis- 


38  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

1 

solute,  but  not  coarse;  bold,  but  not  vulgar:  They 
took  their  pleasure  in  a  delicately  wanton  way, 
which  was  infinitely  more  dangerous  in  its  influence 
than  would  have  been  gross  mirth  or  broad  jesting. 
Rude  licentiousness  has  its  escape -valve  in  disgust, 
but  the  soft  sensualism  of  a  cultured  aristocrat  is  a 
moral  poison,  the  effects  of  which  are  so  insidious 
as  to  be  scarcely  felt  until  all  the  native  nobility  is 
almost  withered. 

It  is  but  justice  to  them  to  say,  there  was  nothing 
repulsive  in  the  mischievous  merriment  of  these 
revelers ;  their  witticisms  were  brilliant  and  pointed, 
but  never  indelicate.  Some  of  the  dancers,  foot- 
weary,  lounged  gracefully  about,  and  the  attendant 
slaves  were  often  called  upon  to  refill  the  wine 
glasses. 

In  every  social  gathering,  as  in  a  garden,  or  in 
the  heavens,  there  is  invariably  one  particular  and 
acknowledged  flower,  or  star.  Here  all  eyes  followed 
the  beautiful,  spirited,  inspiring  girl,  who  was  under 
the  chaperonage  of  Mrs.  Stanhope.  This  fresh, 
beaming  girl,  unspoiled  by  flattery,  remained  naive, 
affectionate  and  guileless. 

During  the  changing  of  groups  and  pairs,  this  girl 
heard  the  sweet,  languid  voice  of  Willard  Frost. 
Through  the  clatter  of  other  men  it  came  like  the 
silver  stroke  of  a  bell  in  a  storm  at  sea.  She 


A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS.  39 

flushed  radiantly  as  he  and  Miss  Baxter  joined  her 
party. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Bell,  you  are  looking  charm- 
ing," he  exclaimed,  effusively.  He  took  her  hand, 
a  little  soft  pink  one,  that  looked  like  a  shell 
uncurled. 

"Come,  honor  Miss  Baxter  and  me  by  taking 
just  one  glass  of  sherry,"  and  he  called  a  passing 
waiter. 

Cherokee  looked  at  him  with  startled  surprise. 
"How  often,  Mr.  Frost,  will  I  have  a  chance  to 
decline  your  offers  like  this?  I  tell  you  again,  I 
have  never  taken  wine,  and  I  congratulate  myself." 

"Are  you  to  be  congratulated  or  condoled  with?" 
There  was  irony  in  Miss  Baxter's  tone,  though  her 
laugh  was  good  natured,  as  she  continued,  "I  see 
you  are  yet  a  beautiful  alien,  for  a  glass  of  good 
wine,  or  an  occasional  cigarette  is  never  out  of  place 
with  us.  All  of  these  nervous  fads  are  city  equip- 
ments." 

"Then,  if  not  to  smoke  and  not  to  drink  are 
country  virtues,  pray  introduce  them  into  city  life," 
was  Cherokee's  answer. 

"Ah,  no  indeed,  I  would  never  take  the  liberty 
of  reversing  the  order  of  things,  for  they  just 
suit  me,"  and  Miss  Baxter's  bright  eyes  twinkled 
under  drooping  lashes.  As  she  smiled  she  raised 


40  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

a  glass  of  wine  to  her  lips,  kissed  the  brim,  and 
gave  it  to  Willard  Frost  with  an  indescribably 
graceful  swaying  gesture  of  her  whole  form. 

"Here's  to  your  pastoral  sweetheart,  the  sorcer- 
ess, sovereign  of  the  South." 

He  seized  the  glass  eagerly,  drank,  and  returned 
it  with  a  profound  salutation. 

The  consummate  worldlings  were  surprised  to 
hear  Miss  Bell  answer : 

"Thank  you,  but  how  much  more  appropriate 
would  be,  'Here's  to  a  Fool  in  Spots!'  " 

Willard  replied,  with  a  shake  of  the  head: 

"Ah,  no,  you  have  too  much  'snap'  to  be  called 
a  fool  in  any  sense,  besides,  you  only  need  being 
disciplined — you'll  be  enjoying  life  by  and  by. 
When  I  first  met  our  friend  Milburn  he  was  say- 
ing the  same  thing,  but  where  is  he  now? ' 

Here  Miss  Baxter  laid  her  pretty  jeweled  hand 
warningly  upon  his  arm. 

"Come,  you  would  not  be  guilty  of  divulging 
such  a  delicious  secret,  would  you?" 

He  treated  the  matter  mostly  as  a  joke,  and 
returned  with  a  tantalizing  touch  in  his  speech : 

"Robert  didn't  mean  to  do  it.     We  must  forgive. ' ' 

Cherokee  looked  puzzled  as  she  caught  the 
exchange  of  significant  smiles.  She  spoke,  as 
always,  in  her  own  soft,  syllabled  tongue. 


A   FOOIy   IN   SPOTS.  41 

"What  do  you  mean,  may  I  ask?" 

Willard  Frost  coughed,  and  took  her  fan  with 
affectionate  solicitude. 

"it  may  not  be  just  fair  to  answer  your  question. 
I  am  sorry." 

"Mr.  Milburn  is  a  friend  of  mine,  and  if  anything 
has  happened  to  him  why  shouldn't  I  know  it?" 
she  inquired,  somewhat  tremulously. 

No  combination  of  letters  can  hope  to  convey  an 
idea  of  the  music  of  her  rare  utterance  of  her  sweet- 
heart's name. 

"But  you  wouldn't  like  him  better  for  the 
knowing,"  he  interrupted.  "Besides,  he  will 
come  out  all  right  if  he  follows  my  instructions 
implicitly. ' ' 

She  stared  blankly  at  him,  vainly  trying  to  com- 
prehend what  he  meant.  Then  there  came  an 
anxious  look  on  her  face,  such  a  look  as  people 
wear  when  they  wish  to  ask  something  of  great 
moment,  but  dare  not  begin.  At  last  she  summoned 
up  courage. 

"Mr.  Frost,"  she  said,  in  a  weak,  low  voice, 
"he — Robert — hasn't  done  anything  wrong?" 

"Wrong,  what  do  you  call  wrong?"  was  the 
laconic  question,  "but  I  trust  the  matter  is  not  so 
serious  as  it  appears." 

"Ah,  I  am  so  foolish,"  and  she  smiled  gently. 


42  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"No,  it  is  well  enough  to  have  a  friend's  interest 
at  heart,  and  you  won't  cut  him  off  if  you  hear  it — 
you  are  not  that  sort.  I  know  you  are  clever  and 
thoughtful,  and  all  that,  but  you  possess  the  for- 
giving spirit.  Now,  unlike  some  men,  I  judge 
people  gently,  don't  come  down  on  other  men's 
failings.  Who  are  we,  any  of  us,  that  we  shoud  be 
hard  on  others?" 

"Judge  gently,"  she  replied. 

"I  hope  I  always  do  that." 

"If  I  only  dared  tell  her  now,"  said  Frost  to 
himself,  "but  it's  not  my  affair." 

He  saw  the  feminine  droop  of  her  head,  and  the 
dainty  curve  of  her  beautiful  arm. 

"She  is  about  to  weep,"  he  muttered. 

Miss  Baxter,  who  had  been  amusing  herself  with 
other  revelers,  turned  to  interrupt:  "Mr.  Frost, 
you  haven't  given  him  dead  away?" 

This,  so  recklessly  spoken,  only  added  to  Chero- 
kee's discomfort.  A  flush  rose  to  her  cheek.  She 
asked,  with  partial  scorn : 

"Do  you  think  he  should  have  aroused  my  inter- 
est without  satisfying  it?" 

"Please  forgive  him,  he  didn't  intend  to  be  so 
rude;  besides,  he  would  have  told  you  had  I  not 
interrupted.  It  was  thoughtless  of  you  to  make 
mention  of  it,"  she  said,  reproachfully,  to  the  artist. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  43 

The  while  he  seemed  oddly  enjoying  the  girl's 
strange  dry -eyed  sorrow. 

Just  here,  Fred  Stanhope  came  up  to  tell  them 
the  evening  pleasures  were  done.  Cherokee  could 
have  told  him  that  sometime  before. 

Willard  Frost  looked  remarkably  bright  and 
handsome  as  he  walked  away  with  Miss  Baxter 
leaning  upon  his  arm. 

"What  made  you  punish  that  poor  girl  so? 
What  pleasure  was  there  in  giving  Mr.  Milburn 
away,  especially  since  you  were  the  entire  cause  oi 
it?"  she  went  on  earnestly,  and  a  trifle  dramatically. 
"A  man  has  no  right  to  give  another  away — no 
right — he  should ' ; 

"But  Frances,"  remonstrated  Frost,  lightly,  and 
apparently  unimpressed  by  her  theory,  "I  was  just 
dying  to  tell  her  that  Milburn  was  as  drunk  as  a 
duchess." 


44  A   FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    IMAGE   OP   BEAUTIFUL   SIN. 

In  his  fashionable  apartments,  Willard  Frost 
walked  back  and  forth  in  his  loose  dressing-gown. 
Rustling  about  the  room,  his  softly  slippered  feet 
making  no  noise  on  the  floor,  he  moved  like  a 
refined  tiger — looked  like  "some  enchanted  marquis 
of  the  impenitently  wicked  sort,  in  story,  whose 
periodical  change  into  tiger  from  man  was  either 
just  going  off  or  just  coming  on." 

A  good  opportunity  for  consideration,  surrounded 
by  the  advantages  of  solitude.  He  moved  from  end 
to  end  of  his  voluptuous  room,  looking  now  and 
ag'ain  at  a  picture  which  hung  just  above  a  Persian 
couch,  covered  .with  a  half  dozen  embroidered 
pillows. 

What  unmanageable  thoughts  ran  riot  in  his  head, 
as  he  surveyed  the  superb  image  and  thought  that 
only  one  thing  was  wanting — the  breath  of  life — 
for  which  he  had  waited  through  all  these  months. 

For  two  heavy  hours  he  walked  and  thought; 
now  he  would  heave  a  long,  low  sigh,  then  hold 
his  breath  again. 


A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  45 

When  at  last  lie  dropped  down  upon  his  soft 
bed,  he  lay  and  wondered  if  the  world  would  go 
his  way — the  way  of  his  love  for  a  woman. 


Cherokee  met  Willard  Frost  on  Broadway  the 
next  morning — he  had  started  to  see  her. 

"I^et  me  go  back  with  you  and  we  will  lunch 
together — what  do  you  say?"  he  proposed. 

"Very  well,  for  I  am  positively  worn  out  to  begin 
with  the  day,  and  a  rest  with  you  will  refresh  me," 
she  said  sweetly. 

They  took  the  first  car  down  town  and  went  to  a 
cafe  for  lunch.  Willard  laughed  mischievously  as 
he  glanced  down  the  wine  list  on  the  menu  card. 

"What  will  you  have  to-day?" 

"What  I  usually  take,"  she  answered,  in  the 
same  playful  mood. 

"I  received  that  perplexing  note  of  yours,  but 
don't  quite  interpret  it,"  he  began,  taking  it  from 
his  pocket  and  reading: 

'DEAR  MR.  FROST: 

I  am  anxious  to  sit  for  the  picture  at  once.  Of 
course  you  will  never  speak  of  it.  Don't  let  any- 
one know  it. 

Yours,  in  confidence, 

CHEROKEE.' 


46  A   FOOI,   IN    SPOTS. 

"It  is  very  plain,"  she  pouted.  "Don't  yo* 
remember  I  had  told  you  I  was  going  to  have  my 
portrait  made  for  Mrs.  Stanhope  on  her  birthday. 
That  doesn't  come  just  yet,  in  fact  it  is  three 
months  off,  but  you  know  we  are  going  to  'Frisco' 
for  the  winter,  and  there  isn't  much  time  to  lose; 
I  have  been  busy  two  months  making  preparations. ' ' 

"What!  Are  you  going,  too?  I  was  thinking  a 
foolish  thought , "  he  sighed .  "  I  was  thinking  maybe 
you  would  remain  here  while  they  were  away. ' ' 

"Not  for  anything;  I  have  been  planning  and 
looking  forward  to  this  trip  a  whole  year."  She 
seemed  perfectly  elated  at  the  thought. 

"There  is  nothing  to  induce  you  to  remain?" 

"Nothing,"  she  answered,  with  emphasis. 

"I  have  an  aunt  with  whom  you  could  stay,  and 
we  could  learn  much  of  each  other.  Do  stay,"  he 
insisted. 

"I  must  go,  though  I  shall  not  forget  you  in  the 
'winter  of  our  content.'  ' 

"That's  very  kind,  I  am  sure,  but  I  have  set  my 
heart  on  seeing  you  during  the  entire  season,  for 
Milburn,  poor  boy,  is  so  hard  at  work  he  will  not 
intrude  upon  my  time  often.  Besides,  he  is  getting 
careless  of  late — doesn't  want  society.  The  fact  is, 
I  believe  he  is  profoundly  discouraged.  This  work 
of  art  is  a  slow  and  tedious  one.  But  he  keeps  on 


A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS.  47 

at  it,  except  when  he  has  been  drinking  too 
heavily. ' ' 

"Drinking!  Mr.  Frost,  you  surely  are  mis- 
informed ;  Robert  never  drinks. ' ' 

Her  manner  was  dignified,  though  she  did  not 
seem  affected,  for  she  was  too  certain  there  was 
some  mistake. 

"I  hope  I  have  been,"  he  said,  simply. 

He  saw  at  once  that  she  would  not  believe  him. 
For  love  to  her  meant  perfect  trust;  faith  in  the 
beloved  against  all  earth  or  heaven.  Whoever 
dared  to  traduce  him  would  be  consumed  in  the 
lightning  of  her  luminous  scorn,  yet  win  for  him, 
her  lover,  a  tenderer  devotion. 

"So  you  are  going  to  'Frisco,'  and  I  cannot  see 
you  for  three  long  months?  Well,  I  must  explain 
something,"  he  began.  "It  is  rather  serious,  it 
didn't  start  out  so,  but  is  getting  very  serious.  I 
got  your  note  about  the  money  more  than  a  week 
ago — "  His  voice  trembled,  broke  down,  then 
mastering  himself,  he  went  on,  "I  could  not  meet  the 
demand.  Ah,  if  I  could  only  get  the  model  I  wanted, 
I  could  paint  a  picture  whose  loveliness  none  but 
the  blind  could  dispute — a  picture  that  would  bring 
more  than  three  times  the  amount  I  owe  you." 

He  watched  the  girl  eagerly,  the  while  soft  sensa- 
tions and  vague  desires  thrilled  him. 


48  A  FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

Wasn't  it  a  wonder  that  something  did  not  tell 
him,  "It  is  monstrous,  inhuman  to  thus  prey  upon 
the  credulity  of  an  impulsive,  over  sensitive  nature. ' ' 
Not  when  it  is  learned  that  whatever  of  heart, 
conscience,  manliness,  courage,  reverence,  charity, 
nature  had  endowed  him  at  his  birth,  had  been 
swallowed  up  in  that  one  quality — selfishness. 

"I  wish  I  could  help  you, ' '  Cherokee  said  timidly, 
"for  I  need  the  money.  All  I  had  has  gone  for  my 
winter  wardrobe." 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  how  to  help  us  both.  The 
model  I  want  is  yourself."  He  spoke  bravely  now. 

"Me?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will  let  me,  I  can  do  us  both  justice, 
and  you  will  be  counted  the  dream  of  all  New 
York." 

She  listened  to  his  speech  like  the  bird  that 
flutters  around  the  dazzling  serpent;  she  was 
fascinated  by  this  dangerous  man,  and  neither  able 
nor  honestly  willing  to  escape. 

"Besides,  I  will  make  your  portrait  for  Mrs.  Stan- 
hope free  of  charge,"  was  the  artist's  afterthought. 

"I  could  not  accept  so  much  from  you,"  she 
answered,  promptly. 

"I  offered  it  by  way  of  rewarding  your  own 
generosity,  but  come,  say  j^ou  will  pose  for  me 
anyhow." 


A   FOOIv    IN    SPOTS.  49 

She  regarded  him  frankly  and  without  embar- 
rassment. 

"I  will  if  it  is  perfectly  proper  for  me  to  do  so. 
Surely,  though,  you  would  not  ask  me  to  do  it  if 
it  were  wrong. ' ' 

"Not  for  the  world,"  he  replied  magnanimously. 
"It  is  entirely  proper,  many  a  lady  comes  there 
alone.  'In  art  there  is  no  sex,  you  know.'  ' 

"But  I  am  not  prepared  now,  how  should  I  be 
dressed?" 

"In  a  drapery,  and  I  have  all  that  is  necessary. 
Say  you  will  go,"  he  pleaded. 

She  hesitated  a  moment. 

"Well,  I  will,"  was  the  unfortunate  answer. 

Within  an  hour,  master  and  model  entered  the 
studio. 

"Now,  first  of  all,"  observed  the  master,  "you 
must  lay  aside  all  reserve  or  foolish  timidity, 
remembering  the  purity  of  art,  and  have  but  one 
thought — the  completion  of  it.  In  that  room  to 
your  right  you  will  find  everything  that  is  needed, 
and  over  the  couch  is  a  study  by  which  you  may 
be  guided  in  draping  yourself. ' ' 

As  the  door  closed  behind  Cherokee,  Willard 
Frost  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  beautiful  figure,  "The 
Nymph  of  the  Stream."  He  listened  for  a  couple 
of  minutes  or  more,  expecting  or  fearing  she  would 


50  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

be  shocked  at  first,  but  as  there  was  no  such  evi- 
dence he  had  no  further  misgivings.  A  thousand 
beautiful  visions  floated  voluptuously  through  the 
thirsting  silence.  They  flushed  him  as  in  the 
wakening  strength  of  wine.  And  his  body,  like 
the  sapless  bough  of  some  long -wintered  tree,  sud- 
denly felt  all  pulses  thrilling. 

His  hot  lips  murmured,  "Victory  is  mine.  Aye, 
life  is  beautiful,  and  earth  is  fair." 

Then  the  door  opened  and  the  model  entered. 
She  did  not  speak  but  stood  straight  and  silent,  her 
hands  hanging  at  her  side  with  her  palms  loosely 
open — the  very  abandonment  of  pathetic  helpless- 
ness. 

The  master  drew  nearer  and  put  out  his  hands. 
"Cherokee,"  he  said. 

But  he  was  suddenly  awed  by  a  firm  ' '  Stop  there ! 
I  have  always  tried  to  be  pure-minded,  high- 
souled,  sinless,  but  all  this  did  not  shield  me  from 
insult,"  she  cried,  with  a  look  of  self -pitying 
horror. 

He  drew  back,  and  his  temper  mounted  to  white 
heat,  but  he  managed  to  preserve  his  suave  com- 
posure. 

My  dear  girl,  you  misunderstand  me ;  art  makes 
its  own  plea  for  pardon.  You  are  not  angry,  are 
you  ? ' ' 


A  FOOIv  IN   SPOTS.  51 

She  looked  straight  at  him,  her  bosom  rose  and 
fell  with  her  quick  breathing,  and  there  was  such 
an  eloquent  scorn  in  her  face  that  he  winced  under 
it,  as  though  struck  by  a  scourge. 

"You  are  not  worth  my  anger;  one  must  have 
something  to  be  angry  with,  and  you  are  nothing — 
neither  man,  nor  beast,  for  men  are  brave  and 
beasts  tell  no  lies.  Out  of  my  way,  coward!  " 

And  she  stood  waiting  for  him  to  obey,  her  whole 
frame  vibrating  with  indignation  like  a  harp  struck 
too  roughly.  The  air  of  absolute  authority  with 
which  she  spoke,  stung  him  even  through  his 
hypocrisy  and  arrogance.  He  bit  his  lips  and 
attempted  to  speak  again,  but  she  was  gone  from 
the  studio. 

Every  step  of  her  way  she  saw  a  serpent  crawl 
back  and  forth  across  her  hurried  path,  and  she 
mused  to  herself:  "Let  him  keep  the  money,  my 
virtue  is  worth  more  to  me  than  all  that  glitters  or 
is  gold. ' ' 


52  A  FOOL,  IN  SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

WHITE   ROSES. 

Robert  Milburn,  bent  at  his  desk,  his  fair  head  in 
his  hands,  was  bewildered,  angry,  in  despair. 

"Can  this  be  true?"  he  asked  himself.  "Is  there 
a  possibility  of  truth  in  it?" 

The  air  of  the  gray  room  grew  close,  oppressive 
to  the  spirit,  and  at  the  darkening  window  he  arose 
from  the  desk.  He  put  on  his  long  rain -coat,  and 
with  a  hollow,,  ominous  sound,  the  door  closed 
behind  him  and  he  left  the  house. 

As  along  he  went,  Robert  caught  sight  of  the 
bony  face  of  an  American  millionaire  and  a  beauti- 
ful woman  in  furs,  behind  the  rain -streaked  panes 
of  a  flashing  carriage.  On  the  other  side  he 
observed  a  gigantic  iron  building  from  which 
streams  of  shop -people  poured  down  every  street 
homeward;  these  ghastly  weary  human  machines 
made  a  pale  concourse  through  the  sleet. 

Further  on  his  way  a  girl  stood  waiting  for  some 
one  on  the  curb.  He  looked  at  her,  dark  hair 
curled  on  her  white  neck,  her  attire  poor  and  com- 
mon ;  but  she  was  pretty,  with  her  dark  eyes.  A 


A    FOOL    IN    SPOTS.  53 

reckless,  plebeian  little  piece  of  earth,  shivering, 
her  hands  bare  and  rough,  the  sleet  whipping  her 
face,  on  the  side  of  which  was  a  discoloration — the 
result  of  a  blow,  perchance.  Then  he  turned  his 
eyes  from  her  who  had  drawn  them. 

The  arc  light  above  him  hung  like  a  dreadful 
white -bellied  insect  hovering  on  two  long  black 
wings,  and  he  saw  a  woman  in  sleet -soaked  rags, 
bent  almost  double  under  a  load  of  sticks  collected 
for  firewood.  Her  hair  hung  thin  and  gray  in  elf- 
locks,  her  red  eyelids  had  lost  their  lashes  so  that 
the  eyes  appeared  as  those  of  a  bird  of  prey.  The 
wizened  hands  clutching  the  cord  which  bound  the 
sticks  seemed  like  talons.  She  importuned  a 
passer-by  for  help,  and,  being  denied,  she  cursed 
him;  and  Robert  watched  the  wretched  creature 
crawl  away  homeward — back  to  the  slums. 

These  were  manifestations  of  the  life  of  thousands 
in  metropolitan  history.  Robert  shook  himself, 
shuddering,  as  though  aroused  from  a  trance. 

He  had  started  out  to  go  anywhere  or  nowhere, 
but  the  next  hour  found  him  in  the  presence  of 
Cherokee,  and  she  was  saying: 

"How  awfully  fond  you  are  of  giving  pleasant 
surprises." 

"I  am  amazed  at  myself  for  coming  such  a  night, 
and  that  too  without  your  permission." 


54  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"We  are  always  glad  to  see  you,  but  Fred  and  I 
had  contemplated  braving  the  weather  to  go  to  hear 
Paderewski,"  she  said,  sweetly. 

"Then  don't  let  me  detain  you,  I  beg  of  you," 
he  answered,  with  profound  regret. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  we  have  an  hour  or  more, 
I  am  all  ready,  so  you  stay  and  go  in  as  wre  do. " 

"No,  I  will  not  go  with  you,  but  will  stay  awhile, 
since  you  are  kind  enough  to  permit  me."  And 
he  laughed,  a  little  mournfully. 

"Cherokee,  I  have  come  for  two  reasons — to  tell 
you  that  I  am  going  home  to  Maryland  to  see  a  sick 
mother,  and  to  tell  you "  He  paused,  hesitat- 
ing, a  great  bitterness  welled  up  in  his  breast;  a 
firmness  came  about  his  mouth  and  he  went  on : 

"It  is  folly  for  you  to  persuade  yourself  that  you 
could  accommodate  your  future  life  to  sacrifice, 
poverty — this  is  all  wrong.  When  we  look  it 
coldly  in  the  face  it  is  a  fact,  and  we  may  dispute 
facts  but  it  is  difficult  to  alter  them." 

There  was  no  response  from  her  except  the 
clasping  of  the  hand  he  held  over  his  fingers  for  a 
moment. 

"I  had  no  right  that  you  should  wait  for  me 
through  years,  for  your  young  life  is  filled  with 
possibilities.  I,  alone,  make  them  impossible,  and 
I  must  remove  that  factor. ' ' 


A  FOOI,  IN  SPOTS.  55 

"Robert!  Robert!  What  does  all  this  mean?" 
Her  breathless  soul  hung  trembling  on  his  answer. 

' '  It  means  that  I  am  going  to  give  you  back  your 
liberty." 

'  'And  you. ? ' '  she  gasped. 

"I  will  do  the  best  I  can  with  my  life.  Please 
God,  you  shall  never  be  ashamed  to  remember  that 
you  once  fancied  that  you  could  have  cared  for  me. ' ' 

And  then  he  could  trust  himself  no  further ;  the 
trembling  fingers,  the  soft  perfume  he  knew  so  well 
in  the  air,  and  the  surging  realization  that  the  end 
was  at  hand,  made  him  weak  with  longing. 

Cherokee  was  at  first  shocked  and  stunned  at 
what  he  was  saying?  For  a  moment  the  womanly 
conclusion  that  he  no  longer  cared  for  her  seemed 
the  only  impression,  but  she  put  it  from  her  as 
being  unworthy  of  them  both. 

Her  manner  was  dignified,  yet  tender,  as  she 
began : 

"Robert,  I  suppose  you  have  not  spoken  without 
consideration,  and  if  you  think  I  would  be  a  burden 
to  you,  it  is  best  to  go  on  without  me."  She 
ended  with  a  deep-drawn  breath. 

"That  sound  was  not  a  sob,"  she  said  bravely, 
"I  only  lost  my  breath  and  caught  it  hard  again." 

"Yes,  Cherokee,  I  am  going  without  you,  going 
out  of  your  life.  Good  bye." 


56  A   FOOI<   IN  SPOTS. 

"You  cannot  go  out  of  it,"  she  answered,  "but 
good  bye." 

"Good  bye,"  he  repeated,  which  should  only 
mean,  "God  bless  you." 

There  was  a  flutter  of  pulses,  and  Robert  walked 
away  with  head  upheld,  dry -eyed,  to  face  the  world. 
Unfaltering,  she  let  him  go,  the  while  she  had 
more  than  a  suspicion  of  the  lips  whose  false  speak- 
ing had  wrought  her  such  woe. 

When  he  reached  his  room  he  unlocked  the 
drawer,  produced  from  it  a  card,  and  looked  long 
and  tenderly  upon  the  face  he  saw.  He  bent  over 
and  kissed  the  unresponsive  lips.  This  was  his 
requiem  in  memory  of  a  worthier  life.  Then  light- 
ing a  match  he  set  it  afire,  and  watched  it  burn  to 
a  shadowy  cinder,  which  mounted  feebly  in  the  air 
for  a  moment,  making  a  gray  background  against 
whose  dullness  stood  out,  in  its  round  finished 
beauty,  the  life  he  had  lost — echoing  with  a  true 
woman's  beautiful  soul. 

As  the  ashes  whitened  at  his  feet,  he  thought, 
"Thus  the  old  life  is  effaced,  I  will  go  into  the  new. ' ' 

The  midnight  train  took  him  out  of  town,  and 
Cherokee  was  weeping  over  a  basket  of  white  roses 
which  had  come  just  at  evening. 


•A  FOOI,  IN   SPOTS.  57 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   CALL   OF   A   SOUL. 

Now  and  again  Cherokee  kissed  the  roses  with 
pangs  of  speechless  pain.  The  fragrance  that 
floated  from  their  lips  brought  only  anguish.  To 
her,  white  roses  must  ever  mean  white  memories  of 
despair,  and  their  pale  ghosts  would  haunt  long 
after  they  were  dead. 

All  day  the  family  had  been  busy  packing,  for 
soon  the  Stanhopes  would  close  the  house  and  take 
flight.  Cherokee  had  been  forced  to  tell  them  she 
had  changed  her  mind  and  would  go  to  the  country ; 
she  needed  quiet,  rest.  Pride  made  her  withhold 
the  humiliating  fact  that  she  had  just  money  enough 
to  take  her  down  to  the  South  country. 

There  was  a  kind,  generous  friend,  who,  at  her 
father's  death,  offered  her  a  home  under  his  roof  for 
always,  and  now  that  promise  came  to  her,  holding 
out  its  inducement,  but  she  would  not  accept  it; 
somehow  she  felt  glad  that  the  time  of  leaving  the 
Stanhopes  was  near.  This  pleasant  house,  these 
cheerful,  affectionate  surroundings,  had  become 
most  intolerable  since  she  must  keep  anything 


58  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

from  them — even  though  it  be  but  an  error  of 
innocence. 

"L,et  me  forget  the  crushing  humiliation  of  the 
past  month,"  she  told  herself,  "I  must  try  to  be 
strong,  reasonable,  if  not  happy."  She  must  find 
some  calling,  something  to  sustain  herself,  to  occupy 
her  hands  and  time.  The  soft,  idle,  pleasant  exist- 
ence offered  by  the  friend  would  enervate  rather 
than  fortify — would  force  her  back  on  herself  and 
on  useless  regrets. 

As  she  sat  in  her  own  room,  holding  the  blank 
page  of  her  coming  life,  and  studying  what  the 
truth  should  be,  there  arose  before  her  inner  gaze 
two  scenes  of  a  girlish  life ;  fresh,  vivid  were  they,  as 
of  yesterday,  though  both  were  now  of  a  buried  past. 

First  she  recalled  the  hour  when  sorrow  caught 
her  by  the  hand,  dragged  her  from  the  couch  of 
childhood  to  a  darkened  room  where  lay  the  sphinx- 
like  clay  of  her  mother — the  lids  closed  forever 
over  what  had  been  loving  gleams  of  sympathy — 
the  hands  crossed  in  still  rigidity.  Her  little  child 
heart  had  no  knowledge  of  the  mysteries — love, 
anguish,  death — in  whose  shadow  the  zest  of  life 
withers.  She  knew  their  names  but  they  stood  afar 
off,  a  veiled  and  waiting  trio. 

She  crept,  sobbing,  from  that  terrible  semblance 
of  a  mother  to  the  out -door  sunshine,  and  the  yard, 


A   FOOI,   IN   SPOTS.  59 

where  the  crape -myrtle  nodded  cheerfully  to  her 
just  as  it  did  before  they  frightened  her  so.  The 
dark  house  she  was  afraid  of,  so  she  had  gone  far 
out  of  doors.  The  little  lips  that  had  lately  quivered 
piteously,  sang  a  tune  in  unthinking  gaiety,  and 
life  was  again  the  same,  for  she  could  not  then 
understand. 

The  other  scene  was  a  radiant,  sparkling,  wildly 
joyous  picture.  The  world,  enticing  as  a  fairy 
garden,  received  her  in  her  bright,  petted  youth — 
her  richly  endowred  orphanhood  had  been  a  perpet- 
ual feast.  In  this  period  not  one  single  voice  of 
cold  or  ungracious  tenor  could  she  recall. 

But  now  she  looked  full  over  that  garden,  once 
all  abloom.  Here  a  flower  with  blight  in  its  heart, 
yonder  one  whose  leaves  were  falling.  There  whole 
bushes  were  only  stems  enthorned,  and  stood 
brown  and  bitter,  leaves  and  flowers  withered  or 
dead. 

"So, "  thought  she,  "it  is  with  my  life. "  A  rap 
on  the  door  brought  her  into  the  present.  It  was 
the  delivery  of  the  latest  mail:  some  papers,  a 
magazine,  and  one  letter.  The  letter  was  post- 
marked Winchester,  Ky.  With  a  little  sigh  of 
triumphant  expectation,  she  broke  the  seal.  It,  to 
her  thinking,  might  contain  good  news  from  friends 
at  home. 


60  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

It  only  took  her  a  moment  to  scan  it  all. 

"I  am  sick  and  needy.  Won't  you  help  me  for 
I  am  dying  from  neglect. ' '  This  was  signed : 

"Black  Mammy, 

"Judy,      (her  X  mark.)" 

Cherokee  read  it  again.  Her  eyes  closed,  and 
then  opened,  dilating  in  swift  terror.  Her  slave - 
mother  suffering  for  the  necessities  of  life.  She 
who  had  spent  years  in  chivalrous  devotion  to  the 
Bell  family  now  appealed  to  her,  the  last  of  that 
honored  name. 

A  swift  pain  shot  through  her  veins — a  sudden 
increased  anguish — a  sense  of  something  irremedi- 
able, hopeless,  inaccessible,  held  her  in  its  grip, 
and  a  voiceless,  smothered  cry  rent  her  breast. 
Tears  gushed  from  her  eyes,  scalding  waters  which 
fell  upon  her  hands  and  seemed  to  wither  them. 
Even  the  fern -leaf,  the  birth-mark,  looked  shrunken 
and  shrivelled,  as  she  gazed  at  it;  something  told 
her  to  remember  it  held  the  wraith  of  a  life. 

Cherokee  was  wild  with  grief.  She  went  to  the 
window  and  looked  far  out  into  the  night,  letting 
her  sight  range  all  the  Southern  sky,  and  the  stars 
looked  down  with  eyes  that  only  stared  and  hurt 
her  with  their  lack  of  sympathy.  A  gentle  wind 


"  The  sweet  intoxication  of  the  first  kiss."     Paj?e  36. 


A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS.  61 

crept  by,  and  a  faint  sibilance,  as  of  taut  strings 
throbbed  through  the  coming  night.  It  was  Fred, 
with  his  violin,  waiting  for  her  to  come  down  to 
accompany  him.  But  she  did  not  go — she  had  no 
thought  of  it  being  time  to  eat  or  time  to  play — she 
had  forgotten  everything,  except  that  a  soul  had 
cried  to  her  and  she  must  answer  it  in  so  niggardly 
and  miserly  a  fashion. 

Now  three,  four,  five  hours  had  gone  since  the 
sunken  sun  laved  the  western  heaven  with  lowest 
tides  of  day.  The  tired  world,  that  ever  craves  for 
great  dark  night  to  come  brooding  in  with  draught 
of  healing  and  blessed  rest  that  recreates,  had  been 
lulled  to  satisfaction.  Still  mute  sorrow  held 
Cherokee,  and  it  was  nearly  day  when  peace  filled 
her  unremembering  eyes  and  she  had  forgotten  all. 


62  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

LIFE'S   NIGHT   WATCH. 

It  was  a  dull,  wintry  day;  blank,  ashen  sky 
above — grassland,  sere  and  stark,  below.  Weedy 
stubble  wore  shrouding  of  black;  everything  was 
still — so  still,  even  the  birds  yet  drowsed  upon  their 
perch,  nor  stirred  a  wing  or  throat  to  enliven  the 
depressing  wood.  A  soiled  and  sullen  snowdrift  lay 
dankly  by  a  road  that  had  fallen  into  disuse.  It  was 
crossed  now  for  the  first  time,  maybe,  in  a  full  year. 
A  young  woman  tramped  her  way  along  the  silent 
waste  to  a  log  shanty.  Frozen  drifts  of  the  late 
snow  lay  packed  as  they  had  fallen  on  the  door  sill. 

She  rapped  at  the  door  and  bent  her  head  to 
listen;  then  she  rattled  it  vigorously,  and  still  no 
answer.  She  tried  the  latch,  it  yielded,  and  she 
entered.  The  light  inside  was  so  dim  that  it  was 
hard  at  first  to  make  out  what  was  about  her.  Two 
hickory  logs  lay  smouldering  in  a  bank  of  ashes. 
She  stirred  the  poor  excuse  for  fire,  and  put  on 
some  smaller  sticks  that  lay  by  the  wide  fireplace. 
By  this  time  her  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to 
the  dimness,  and  she  looked  about  her.  There 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  63 

were  a  few  splint -bottomed  chairs,  a  "safe,"  a 
table,  and  a  bed  covered  with  patched  bedding  and 
old  clothes,  and  under  these — in  a  flash  she  was  by 
the  bed  and  had  pushed  away  the  covering  at  the 
top. 

"She  is  dead,"  Cherokee  heard  herself  say  aloud, 
in  a  voice  that  sounded  not  at  all  her  own;  but  no, 
there  was  a  feeble  flicker  of  pulse  at  the  shrunken 
wrist  that  she  instinctively  fumbled  for  under  the 
bed  clothes. 

"Mammy  wake  up !  I  have  come  to  see  you — it's 
Cherokee,  wake  up!"  she  called. 

The  faintest  stir  of  life  passed  over  the  brown  old 
face,  and  she  opened  her  eyes.  It  did  not  seem  as 
though  she  saw  her  or  anything  else.  Her  shrivelled 
lips  moved,  emitting  some  husky,  unintelligible 
sounds.  Cherokee  leaned  nearer,  and  strained  her 
ears  to  catch  these  terrible  words : 

'  'Starvin'— don't— tell— my— chile. ' ' 

With  a  cry  she  sprang  to  her  feet ;  the  things  to 
be  done  in  this  awful  situation  mapped  themselves 
with  lightning  swiftness  before  her  brain ;  she 
started  the  fire  to  blazing,  with  chips  and  more 
wood  that  somehow  was  already  there.  Then  she 
opened  the  lunch  she  had  been  thoughtful  enough 
to  bring;  there  was  chicken,  and  crackers,  and 
bread.  She  seized  a  skillet,  warmed  the  food, 


64  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

hurried  back  to  the  bed,  and  fed  the  woman  as 
though  she  had  been  a  baby. 

Soon  she  thought  she  could  see  the  influence  of 
food  and  warmth ;  but  it  hurt  her  to  see  in  the  face 
no  indication  of  consciousness ;  there  was  a  blank 
stare  that  showed  no  hope  of  recognition. 

As  she  laid  the  patient  back  upon  the  pillow  of 
straw  there  was  a  sound  at  the  door,  a  sound  as  of 
some  one  knocking  the  mud  from  clumsy  shoes.  A 
colored  woman  stepped  in. 

"How  you  do,  Aunt  Judy?" 

"Don't  disturb  her  now,  she  is  very  weak," 
warned  Cherokee. 

The  visitor  looked  somewhat  shocked  to  see  a 
white  lady  sitting  with  Aunt  Judy's  hand  in  hers, 
softly  rubbing  it.  "What's  ailin'  her?"  she  ques- 
tioned in  a  whisper,  "we -all  ain't  hearn  nothin'  at 
all." 

"I  came  and  found  her  almost  dead  with  hunger, 
and  she  is  being  terribly  neglected." 

"Well!  fo'  de  lawd,  we -all  ain't  hearn  nary, 
single  word!  I  'lowed  she  was  'bout  as  common; 
course  I  know  de  ole  'oman  bin  ailin'  all  de  year, 
but  I  didn't  know  she  was  down.  I  wish  we  had 
ha'  knowed  it,  we -all  would  a  corned  up  and 
holped." 

"It  is  not  too  late  yet,"  said  Cherokee,  gently. 


A   FOOL,   IN   SPOTS.  65 

"Yes  um,  we  all  likes  Aunt  Judy,  she's  a  good 
ole  'oman,  I  thought  Jim  was  here  wid  her.  Don't 
know  who  he  is?  Jim  is  her  gran 'son,  a  mighty 
shiftless,  wuthless  chap,  but  I  thought  arter  she 
bin  so  good  to  him  he'd  a  stayed  wid  her  when  she 
got  down.  But  I'll  stay  and  do  all  I  kin." 

Cherokee  thanked  her  gravely,  gratefully. 

The  darkey  went  on  whispering : 

"De  ole  'oman  bin  mighty  'stressed  'bout  dyin'. 
She  didn't  mind  so  much  the  dyin'  ez  she  wanted 
to  be  kyaried  to  de  ole  plantation  to  be  buried  'long 
wid  her  folks.  Dat's  more'n  ten  or  'leven  miles, 
and  she  knowd  dey  wouldn't  haul  her  dat  fur — 
'spec'ly  ef  de  weather  wus  bad.  I  'spec  worrin' 
got  her  down." 

Cherokee  told  the  visitor  to  try  and  arouse  her, 
now  that  she  had  had  time  to  rest  after  her  meal. 

She  took  up  one  of  her  worn  brown  hands. 

"How  do  you  feel,  Aunt  Judy?" 

"Porely ,porely, '  'she  stammered  almost  inaudibly. 

"Why  didn't  you  let  we -all  know?" 

"Thar  warn't  nobody  to  sen'  'roun'." 

"Whars  Jim?"  the  visitor  enquired. 

Her  face  gloomed  sadly. 

"L,aw,  hunny,  he  took  all  de  money  Mas'r  left 
me,  and  runned  away."  She  looked  up  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 


66  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"Tildy,  I  motif  ent  o'  grieved  'bout  de  money, 
but  now  dey'll  bury  me  jes  like  a  common  nigger 
— out  in  de  woods." 

"Maybe  not,  sumpin'  mite  turn  up  dat'll  set 
things  right,"  she  said,  comfortingly. 

The  old  woman  talked  with  great  effort,  but  she 
seemed  interested  in  this  one  particular  subject. 

"Tildy,  I  ain't  afeard  ter  die,  and  I'se  lived  out 
my  time,  but  we -all's  folks  wus  buried  'spectable 
— buried  in  de  grabe-yard  at  home.  One  cornder 
wus  cut  off  for  we -all  in  deir  bury  in'  groun'  ; 
my  ole  man,  he's  buried  dar,  and  Jerry,  my  son, 
he's  buried  dar,  and  our  white  people  thought 
a  sight  o'  we -all.  Dey'ed  want  me  sent  right 
dar." 

"  Whar  dey-all — your  white  folks?"  asked  Tildy, 
wistfully. 

"All  daid  but  one — my  chile,  Miss  Cheraky.  I 
wus  her  black  mammy,  and  she  lub'd  me — if  she 
was  here  I'd "  She  broke  down,  crying  piti- 
fully— lifting  her  arms  caressingly,  as  though  a  baby 
were  in  them. 

Cherokee  knew  now  that  she  would  recognize 
her,  so  she  came  up  close  to  her. 

"Yes,  Mammy,  you  are  right,  our  loved  ones 
should  rest  together,  I  will  see  that  you  go  back 
home." 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  67 

"Oh,  my  chile!" — she  caught  her  breath  in  a 
sob  of  joy,  "God  A 'mighty  bless  you,  God  A 'mighty 
bless  you ! ' ' 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  I  shall  stay  until  you  are 
well,  or  better."  Cherokee  stooped  and  patted  her 
tenderly. 

"My  chile's  dun  come  to  kyar  ole  mammy 
home,"  she  repeated  again  and  again,  until  at  last, 
exhausted  from  joy,  she  fell  asleep. 

Tildy  and  the  young  white  lady  kept  a  still  watch, 
broken  only  by  stalled  cattle  that  mooed  forth 
plaintive  pleadings. 


68  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

A  KENTUCKY  STOCK   FARM. 

Cheerless  winter  days  were  gone.  Spring  had 
grown  bountiful  at  last,  though  long;  like  a  miser 

"Had  kept  much  wealth  of  bloom, 
Had  hoarded  half  her  treasures  up  in  winter's  tomb." 

But  her  penitence  was  wrought  in  raindrops  ringed 
with  fragile  gold5 — the  tears  that  April  sheds.  Now 
vernal  grace  was  complete;  the  only  thing  to  do 
was  to  go  out  in  it,  to  rejoice  in  its  depth  of 
color,  in  its  hours  of  flooded  life,  its  passion  pulse 
of  growth. 

"Ashland,"  that  peerless  Southern  home,  was  set 
well  in  a  forest  lawn.  The  great,  old-fashioned, 
deep -red  brick  house,  with  its  broad  verandas,  out- 
lined by  long  rows  of  fluted  columns,  ending  with 
wing  rooms,  was  half  ivy -covered.  A  man  came  out 
upon  the  steps  and  looked  across  his  goodly  acres. 
Day -beams  had  melted  the  sheet  of  silvery  dew.  A 
south  wind  was  asweep  through  fields  of  wheat,  a 
shadow -haunted  cloth  of  bearded  gold,  and  blades 
of  blue  grass  were  all  wind -tangled  too.  How  the 


A   FOOL  IN  SPOTS.  69 

wind  wallowed,  and  shook,  with  a  petulant  air,  and 
a  shiver  as  if  in  pain.  The  man  looked  away  to  the 
eastward,  to  where  even  rows  of  stalls  lined  his 
race -course — a  kite -shaped  track. 

A  darkey  boy  came  up  with  a  saddled  mare,  and 
the  master  took  the  reins,  put  foot  in  the  stirrup 
and  mounted  to  the  saddle.  He  was  a  large,  finely 
built  man,  fresh  in  the  forties;  kindness  and  deter- 
mination filled  the  dark  eyes,  and  the  broad  fore- 
head was  not  unvisited  by  care.  The  hand  that 
buckled  the  bridle  was  fat,  smooth  and  white,  very 
much  given*  to  hand -shaking  and  benedictions.  As 
he  was  about  to  ride  away,  the  jingling  pole -chains 
of  a  vehicle  arrested  his  attention.  lyooking 
around  the  curve,  he  saw  a  carriage  coming  up — a 
smartly  dressed  man  stepped  out,  who  asked : 

"Have  I  the  honor — is  this  Major  McDowell?" 

"That  is  my  name,  sir;    and  yours?" 

"Frost — Willard  Frost,"  returned  the  other,  cor- 
dially extending  his  hand. 

The  Major  said,  warmly: 

"Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Frost;  will  you  come 
in?"  and  the  Major  got  down  from  his  horse. 

"Thanks.  I  came  with  the  view  of  buying  a 
racer.  Had  you  started  away?" 

"Only  down  to  the  stables;  you  will  come  right 
over  with  me,"  he  proposed. 


70  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"Very  good.  To  go  over  a  stock  farm  has  been 
a  pleasure  I  have  held  in  reserve  until  a  proper 
opportunity  presented  itself.  Shall  I  ride  or 
walk?" 

"Dismiss  the  carriage  and  be  my  guest  for  the 
day,  I  will  have  you  a  horse  brought  to  ride." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  awfully,"  returned  the  profuse 
stranger.  And  he  indicated  his  acceptance  by  car- 
rying out  the  host's  suggestion. 

"Call  for  me  in  time  for  the  east-bound  evening 
train,"  he  said,  to  the  driver. 

Pretty  soon  the  Major  had  the  horse  brought,  and 
they  rode  down  to  the  stables. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Frost,  I  have  heard  your  name 
before." 

The  other  felt  himself  swelling.  "I  shouldn't 
wonder;  I  am  a  dauber  of  portraits,  from  New 
York,  and  you  I  have  heard  quite  a  deal  of,  through 
young  Milburn." 

"Robert  Milburn !  Why  bless  the  boy,  I  am  quite 
interested  in  his  career;  he,  too,  had  aspirations  in 
that  line.  How  did  he  turn  out?"  asked  the  Major, 
with  considerable  interest. 

"Well,  he  is  an  industrious  worker,  and  may  yet 
do  some  clever  work,  if  drink  doesn't  throw  him." 

"Drink!"  exclaimed  the  other,  "I  can  scarcely 
believe  it.  He  impressed  me  as  a  sober  youth,  full 


A   FOOI,   IN   SPOTS.  71 

of  the  stuff  that  goes  to  make  a  man.  What  a  pity ; 
I  suppose  it  was  evil  associations. ' ' 

"A  pretty  girl  is  at  the  bottom  of  it,  I  understand. 
You  know,  'whom  nature  makes  most  fair  she 
scarce  makes  true.'  " 

The  Major  re -adjusted  his  hat,  and  breathed 
deeply. 

"Ah!  well,  I  don't  believe  in  laying  everything 
on  women.  Maybe  it  was  something  else.  Has  he 
had  no  other  annoyance,  vexations  or  sorrow?" 

"Yes,  he  lost  his  mother  in  mid -winter,  but  I 
saw  but  little  change  in  him;  true,  he  alluded  to  it 
in  a  casual  way,"  remarked  Frost,  lightly. 

"But  such  deep  grief  seeks  little  sympathy  of 
companions;  it  lies  with  a  sensitive  nature,  bound 
within  the  narrowest  circles  of  the  heart ;  they  only 
who  hold  the  key  to  its  innermost  recesses  can 
speak  consolation.  From  what  I  know  of  Robert 
Milburn  this  grief  must  have  gone  hard  with  him." 

Here  they  came  upon  the  track  where  the  trainer 
was  examining  a  new  sulky. 

"Bring  out  'Bridal  Bells,'  Mr.  Noble.  I  want 
to  show  the  gentleman  some  of  our  standard - 
breds." 

The  trainer's  lean  face  lighted  with  native  pride. 
With  little  shrill  neighs  "Bridal  Bells"  came  pranc- 
ing afield ;  she  seemed  impatient  to  dash  headlong 


72  A  FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

through  the  morning's  electric  chill.  Pride  was  not 
prouder  than  the  arch  of  her  chest. 

'  'What  a  beauty,  what  a  poem ! ' '  Frost's  enthu- 
siasm seemed  an  inspiration  to  the  Major 

"She  is  marvellously  well  favored,  sir;  comes 
from  the  'Beautiful  Bells'  family,  that  is,  without  a 
doubt,  one  of  the  richest  and  most  remarkable 
known.  If  you  want  a  good  racer  she  is  your 
chance.  Racing  blood  speaks  in  the  sharp,  thin 
crest,  the  quick,  intelligent  ear,  the  fine  flatbone 
and  clean  line  of  limb." 

Frost  looked  in  her  mouth,  put  on  a  grave  face, 
as  though  he  understood  "horseology." 

The  Major  gave  her  age,  record,  pedigree  and 
price  so  fast  that  the  other  found  it  difficult  to  keep 
looking  wise  and  listen  at  the  same  time. 

The  trainer  then  brought  out  another,  a  brown 
horse  with  tan  muzzle  and  flanks. 

"Here,  sir,  is  'Baron  Wilkes' ;  thus  far  he  has 
proven  an  extremely  worthy  son  of  a  great  sire,  the 
peerless  'George  Wilkes.'  He  was  bred  in  unsur- 
passed lines,  is  15%  hands  high,  and  at  two  years 
old  took  a  record  of  2  :34K." 

"Ah!  he  is  a  handsome  individual;  look  what 
admirable  legs  and  feet,"  exclaimed  the  guest. 

"And  a  race  horse  all  over.  But  here  comes  my 
ideal,"  he  added,  with  pride,  as  across  the  sward 


A    FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  73 

pranced  a  solid  bay  without  any  white ;  black  mark- 
ings extending  above  his  knees  and  hocks.  A 
horse  of  finish  and  symmetrical  build,  well-balanced 
and  adjusted  in  every  member.  The  one  prevail- 
ing make-up  was  power — power  in  every  line 
and  muscle.  Forehead  exceedingly  broad  and 
full,  and  a  windpipe  flaring,  trumpet  like,  at  the 
throttle. 

"Now  I  will  show  you  a  record-breaker,"  the 
while  he  patted  him  affectionately. 

"This  is  'Kremlin,'  unquestionably  the  fastest 
trotter,  except  illustrious  'Alix. '  Under  ordinary 
exercise  his  disposition  is  very  gentle,  there  being 
an  independent  air  of  quiet  nonchalance  that  is 
peculiarly  his  own.  Harnessing  or  unharnessing 
of  colts,  or  the  proximity  of  mares,  doesn't  disturb 
his  serene  composure.  But  roused  into  action  his 
mental  energies  seem  to  glow  at  white  heat.  He  is 
all  life,  a  veritable  equine  incarnation  of  force, 
energy,  determination — a  horse  that  'would  meet  a 
troop  of  hell,  at  the  sound  of  the  gong,'  and,  I 
might  add,  beat  them  out  at  the  wire.  His  gait,  as 
may  be  judged  from  his  speed",  is  the  poetry  of 
motion;  no  waste  action,  but  elastic,  quick,  true. 
He  is  a  natural  trotting  machine.  His  body  is  pro- 
pelled straight  as  an  air  line,  and  his  legs  move 
with  the  precision  of  perfect  mechanism." 


74  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

"What  shoe  does  he  carry?"  asked  the  New 
Yorker. 

"Ten  ounces  in  front,  five  behind." 

"He  is  certainly  a  good  animal,  I  should  like  to 
own  him;  but,  all  around,  I  believe  I  prefer  'Bridal 
Bells.'  To  own  one  good  racer  is  a  pleasure.  I 
take  moderate,  not  excessive,  interest  in  races," 
explained  Frost. 

"It  is  rather  an  expensive  luxury,  if  you  only 
view  it  from  the  standpoint  of  pleasure  and  pride. ' ' 

"Oh,  when  we  can  afford  these  things,  it  is  all 
very  well,  I  have  always  been  extravagant,  self- 
indulgent,"  and  he  took  out  his  pocket  book. 

"I  must  have  her,"  counting  out  a  big  roll  of 
bills  and  laying  them  in  the  Major's  hand.  "There 
is  your  price  for  my  queen."  And  "Bridal  Bells" 
had  a  new  nAster. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  75 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE)   BIRTH-MARK. 

Like  most  Southerners,  Major  McDowell  had  the 
happy  faculty  of  entertaining  his  guests  royally. 

The  New  Yorker  was  there  for  the  day,  at  the 
kind  solicitation  of  the  Major  and  his  most  estimable 
wife.  Afternoon  brought  a  rimming  haze ;  the  wind 
had  hushed,  and  the  thick,  lifeless  air  bespoke  rain. 
A  cloud  no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand  had  gathered 
at  low-sky;  then  mounted,  swelling,  to  the  zenith, 
and  wrapped  the  heavens  in  a  pall  and  covered  the 
earth's  face  with  darkness  that  was  fearfully  illum- 
ined by  the  lightning's  glare. 

Host  and  guest  stood  by  an  open  window  looking 
to  the  southward.  Rain  came  down,  pelting  the 
earth  with  a  sheeted  fall  that  soon  sent  muddy 
runnels  adown  every  fresh  furrow.  Before  the 
rain  was  half  over,  horses  were  led  from  their 
stalls  to  the  dripping  freedom  of  wide  pasture 
lands. 

How  green,  and  still,  and  sweet -smelling  it  lies. 
No  wonder  the  animals  ran  ecstatically  about,  neigh- 


76  A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

ing,  prancing,  nipping  one  at  the  other,  snatching 
lush,  tender  mouthfuls  between  rolls  on  the  soft, 
wet  turf. 

"A  goodly  sight,  Major;  I  see  that  you  have 
peculiar  advantages  of  soil  and  climate  for  stock- 
raising,  ' '  remarked  the  guest. 

"That  must  be  true,  and  it  is  a  recognition  of  that 
superiority  that  sends  breeders  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  to  Kentucky.  'Kentucky  for  fine  horses, 
good  whiskey,  and  pretty  women,'  is  a  maxim  old 
and  doubtless  true." 

"I  can  vouch  for  the  first  two,  but  it  has  not  been 
my  luck  to  meet  many  of  your  fair  women." 

"Well,  it  is  proof  true,"  said  the  Major;  "look 
for  yourself,"  and  he  pointed  to  the  forest  lawn 
where  a  young  woman  was  coming  between  the  elm 
rows,  a  child's  hand  in  each  of  her  own.  Her  figure 
preserved  that  girlish  accent  which  few  women 
manage  to  carry  over  into  womanhood. 

She  had  blonde -brown  hair,  and  blue  eyes — very 
dark  and  tender.  She  looked  up  as  she  passed  the 
window,  and  was  none  the  less  charming  for  her 
startled  look.  The  quick  averted  glance  sent  a 
blush  to  the  face  of  Willard  Frost. 

Some  imagine  that  only  virgins  blush ;  that  is  a 
mistake.  A  blush  signifies  but  a  change  in  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood;  animals  can  blush.  The 


A   FOOL   IN  SPOTS.  77 

rabbit  is  so  sensitive  that  its  ears  are  dyed  crimson 
at  the  least  sudden  impression. 

"That  is  Cherokee  Bell,  the  prettiest  of  them  all; 
yes,  and  the  best,"  The  Major's  tone  was  deep 
and  earnest. 

The  guest  immediately  grasped  the  water  bottle, 
poured  himself  a  glass  and  drank  it  off  slowly,  with 
majestic  mein,  to  calm  himself. 

"She  is  beautiful!"  he  exclaimed,  and  shutting 
his  teeth  together:  "Why  in  the  name  of  heaven 
did  I  run  upon  her" — this  to  himself. 

My  wife  and  I  have  always  been  very  fond  of 
her — she  is  our  governess." 

"Your  governess!"  Frost's  smile  of  superiority 
lighted  his  face  as  he  added:  "I  had  thought  I 
would  like  to  know  more  of  her,  but " 

"She  seldom  meets  strangers,"  said  the  Major 
quietly,  and  looking  steadily  at  him.  "She  has  had 
some  little  experience  in  the  outer  world.  She  is 
more  contented  here  with  us." 

"How  long  has  she  been  with  you?" 

"Six  months  and  more." 

Frost's  voice  was  unsteady  as  he  asked,  "Hasn't 
hers  been  a  life  of  romance?  She  looks  like  a 
woman  with  a  history. ' ' 

"You  are  a  regular  old  gypsy  at  fortune  telling. 
She  has  had  a  varied  life,  poor  child." 


78  A    FOOL 'IN   SPOTS. 

"And  the  scar  I  noticed  upon  the  back  of  her 
right  hand.  How  did  that  happen  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  answered  the  Major,  suggest- 
ing— "Maybe  you'd  like  asmoke;  suppose  we  go 
on  the  veranda?" 

The  guest  assented,  and  taking  his  hat  from  a 
table,  followed  the  other. 

Scent  of  the  lilacs  fanned  through  the  ivy,  and 
the  sodden  trees  dropped  rain  on  the  drenched  grass. 

"I  think,"  said  the  Major,  as  they  turned  at  the 
end  of  the  veranda  to  retrace  it  again:  "as  you 
seem  greatly  interested  in  my  pretty  governess,  I 
will  give  you  the  history  of  what  you  call  a  scar — 
that  is  a  fern-leaf — a  birth-mark." 

Frost  puffed  away  in  a  negligent  manner  of  easy 
interest,  and  said: 

"I  should  like  to  hear  it." 

"It  takes  me  back  to  distant,  cruel  days  of  war 
— her  father,  Darwin  Bell,  was  my  friend;  we  were 
comrades ;  he  had  been  brought  up  on  a  big  planta- 
tion, just  this  side  of  the  mountainous  region — it  is 
sixty  miles  from  here — to  the  northwest.  That 
mountain  and  the  valley  on  which  he  lived  were 
favorite  haunts  of  mine  in  those  memorable  early 
days  of  my  life.  I  was  three  years  Darwin's  junior, 
and  never  had  I  realized  his  being  ahead  of  me 
until,  at  twenty -one,  he  brought  home  a  wife. 


A    FOOI,   IN   SPOTS.  79 

Soon  the  war  broke  out;  he  was  no  coward,  not 
half-hearted,  and  when  the  summons  came  he  was 
ready  to  go.  I  was  to  enlist  at  the  same  time.  We, 
like  hundreds  of  others,  had  only  time  to  make  hasty 
and  almost  wordless  farewells.  He  had  to  leave 
this  young  wife  in  the  care  of  servants,  Aunt  Judy, 
and  I  believe  her  husband's  name  was  lyige,  and 
she  had  a  son.  They  were  to  guard  his  love- 
nest  while  he  went  out  to  fight  for  the  Southern 
cause. 

"Aunt  Judy  made  many  promises ;  I  remember 
how  good  were  her  words  of  comfort.  He  respected 
her  as  sacredly  as  the  leaves  of  his  dead  mother's 
Bible,  and  the  safety  of  his  saber.  Her  brown, 
leathery  face  was  showered  with  tears  as  the  young 
husband  and  wife,  hand  in  hand,  went  to  the  gate ; 
she  drew  back  and  sat  down  on  the  door -steps,  not 
daring  to  intrude  on  those  last  few  moments. 

"The  pale  little  wife  could  not  trust  herself  to 
speak ;  she  could  only  cling  to  Darwin,  as,  wrhisper- 
ing  tender  wrords  of  endearment,  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms  in  a  last  embrace;  then  tearing  himself 
away,  and  strangling  a  sob,  he  mounted  his  horse 
and  started  for  the  war. 

"She  watched  us  go,  and,  no  doubt,  deadly  fear 
for  his  safety  must  have  clutched  at  her  heart,  and 
the  longing  to  call  him  back,  to  implore  him  for  her 


80  A   FOOL   IN  SPOTS. 

sake  not  to  risk  his  life,  must  have  been  almost 
irresistible. 

"But  the  thought  of  manhood  and  country  flashed 
into  her  mind,  no  doubt,  and  nerved  her;  for,  when 
he  turned  to  wave  a  last  farewell,  her  face  lighted 
with  a  brave,  cheering  smile,  which  lived  in  his 
heart  the  whole  war-time.  I  will  not  take  time  to 
tell  of  the  trials  and  discomforts ;  you  know  enough 
of  that  by  what  you've  read. 

"it  was  six  or  maybe  seven  months  afterward 
when  we  were  back  in  old  'Kaintuck;'  the  day 
of  which  I  speak,  we  of  the  cavalry,  against 
customary  plans,  were  set  in  the  forefront,  not  on 
the  wings. 

"As  the  mist  lifted,  we  looked  across  the  val- 
ley to  see  the  Kentucky  river  gleaming  in  the  sun. 
It  was  a  familiar  sight,  a  house  here  and  there, 
nearer  to  us  a  little  church,  with  its  graveyard  sur- 
rounding; we  could  see  the  white  headstones,  and 
the  old  slate  ones  like  black  coffin  lids  upright. 
The  noise  of  war,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  enough  to 
rouse  the  dead  from  the  buried  rest  of  years 

"The  church  reminded  me  that  it  was  Sunday; 
with  some  prickings  of  conscience  for  having  for- 
gotten, I  lowered  my  head,  and  asked  that  the  right 
might  triumph,  and  that  a  peace  founded  on  right- 
eousness might  be  won  through  the  strife. ' ' 


A   FOOIv   IN   SPOTS.  81 

"And  don't  you  think  your  prayer  has  been 
answered?"  asked  the  listener,  interrupting. 

The  other  dropped  his  voice : 

"I  am  not  discussing  that  question,"  and  he  kept 
on  with  his  recital. 

"L,ater  in  the  day,  Darwin  came  to  me,  his  face 
aglow,  his  eyes  bright  with  eager  delight,  and  in 
great  excitement. 

'  'I  am  just  two  miles  from  home;  if  I  can  get  a 
permit  I  am  going  there  to-night.' 

"I  exclaimed:   'You  are  mad,  man,  they  are  so 

close  to  us  that  the  sentinels  almost  touch  each 

other,  we  will  have  a  skirmish  inside  of  an  hour ! ' 

'  'I  am  going  when  the  fight  is  done,  if  I  am 

spared. ' 

"I  knew  him,  and  he  meant  it,  but  I  was  almost 
certain  he  would  be  killed.  My  prediction  proved 
true,  we  did  have  a  fight;  and  for  a  time  they  had 
the  advantage,  and  no  one  knew  how  the  day  would 
have  gone  had  not  a  gallant  soldier,  too  impulsive 
to  obey  orders,  charged  with  his  men  too  close  to 
our  cannon.  Poor  fellow!  he  died  bravely,  but 
his  rash  act  gave  us  the  victory ;  they  retreated  in 
good  order  and  molested  us  no  further.  Darwin 
arranged  for  a  leave  of  an  hour's  absence  and  went 
home,  but  his  unthinking  haste  nearly  cost  him  his 
life.  He  barely  made  into  the  mountainway  when 


82  A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 

a  scout  fired  upon  him.  The  scout  could  not  risk 
the  unknown  way  of  the  mountain,  so  Darwin  was 
saved. 

"He  galloped  about  the  gloomy  gorges  fanged 
with  ledges  of  rock,  and  it  was  as  easy  for  him  to 
find  his  way  there  as  in  a  beaten  path.  He  fired, 
now  here,  now  there,  until  the  mountain  seemed 
alive  with  armed  men.  By  the  time  the  smoke 
reached  the  tree  tops  here,  he  was  away  a  hundred 
yards. 

"By  midnight  he  had  rejoined  us ;  having  assur- 
ance of  his  wife's  well-being,  and  the  faithfulness 
of  Aunt  Judy,  who  nightly  slept  on  the  family 
silver,  Darwin,  pretty  well  fagged  out,  dropped 
down  to  sleep.  I  had  gotten  aroused  by  his  coming, 
and  could  not  go  back  to  sleep,  myself. 

"I  marvelled,  as  I  looked  across  at  the  young 
soldier,  to  find  neither  bitterness  nor  dissatisfaction 
on  his  face,  which,  even  in  repose,  retained  some- 
thing of  its  former  bright  expression ;  and  it  bore 
no  traces  of  the  weary  war,  save  in  a  certain  hol- 
lowness  of  the  cheeks.  I  thought  that  to  have  to 
be  away  from  a  young  wife  was  enough  to  justify 
a  man  in  cursing  war,  but  he  looked  happy,  as  he 
lay  there  wrapped  in  profound  slumber;  beside 
him  lay  his  saber,  and  the  keen  wind  flapped  vig- 
orously at  the  gray  cloak  in  which  he  was  envel- 


A   FOOIv   IN   SPOTS.  83 

oped,  without  in  the  least  disturbing  him.  A  more 
perfect  picture  of  peace  in  the  midst  of  war,  of  rest 
in  strife,  you  could  not  find. 

"I  said  to  myself,  proudly:  'The  man  that  can 
wear  that  look  after  continued  hard  duty,  without 
comfortable  quarters,  is  made  of  brave  mettle.' 

"Lying  in  damp  fields  of  nights  was  calculated 
to  make  us  feel  little  else  but  cold  and  stiffness. 

"The  next  night,  by  some  means,  he  went  home 
again  to  say  'good  bye,'  he  told  me,  though,  I  sup- 
pose, he  had  said  that  when  he  left  before;  but 
that  was  none  of  my  business ;  I  was  glad  he  could 
have  the  privilege  again. 

"Aunt  Judy  stood  sentinel,  and  for  safe  quarters, 
the  wife  took  Darwin  up-stairs.  He  had  told  them 
how  he  got  into  camp  the  night  before.*  The  good 
woman -guard  had  to  strain  her  eyes,  for  night  was 
coming  fast;  the  fog,  a  sad,  dun  color,  was  dense, 
deadly. 

Pretty  soon  she  heard  the  sound  of  horses  feet ; 
she  was  all  nervous,  for  she  feared  it  was  'dem  blue 
coats  comin'.'  With  trembling  voice  she  called, 
'Leetle  Massa!  dey's  comin',  dey's comin' !'  Jerry 
was  standing  inside  the  buggy -house,  with  Massa's 
horse  ready  for  him.  Aunt  Judy  couldn't  make  the 
captain  hear.  Her  alarm  was  not  unfounded ;  already 
two  Federals  shook  the  door,  while  a  third  watched 


84  A  FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

the  surroundings,  ready  to  give  the  alarm;  they 
were  pretty  certain  a  Confederate  was  visiting  here, 
and  were  determined  to  capture  him. 

"Quick  as  a  flash  Aunt  Judy  took  in  the  situa- 
tion; she  could  hear  them  storming  at  the  door; 
they  meant  to  be  admitted,  if  by  force.  There  was 
handling  of  a  faded  gray  coat — a  sacred  keep -sake 
of  hers — and  a  hurried  whisper : 

'  'Run   to   de   mountain,   dey'll   follow;    do  as 
massa  done. ' 

"The  next  minute  horse  and  rider,  as  one,  went 
dashing  through  the  dusk ;  the  scheme  acted  like  a 
charm.  The  Federals  soon  followed  in  swift  pur- 
suit, and,  until  it  was  almost  over,  Darwin  knew 
nothing  of  his  peril.  He  was  deeply  moved  by  this 
heroic  act,  the  while  his  mind  was  filled  with  grave 
fears  for  the  safety  of  the  boy.  They  waited  until 
ample  time  for  his  return,  and  kept  up  spirits  until 
the  horse  came  up,  riderless.  A  great  unwonted 
tumult  stirred  and  lashed  the  calm  currents  of  his 
blood  into  a  whirling  storm. 

"This  was  enough;  he  started  out  on  his  search. 
The  women  would  go  with  him — what  more  natural 
— any  of  us  would  have  let  them  go.  The  faint 
flarings  of  dawn  lit  their  perilous  way.  Of  course 
the  women  were  more  or  less  nervous ;  though  the 
whole  world  was  'still  as  the  heart  of  the  dead,' 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  85 

they  were  being  alarmed  by  all  sorts  of  imaginary 
things.  Aunt  Judy  was  pitiful.  She  bore  up  under 
it  for  the  young  woman's  sake,  but  now  and  then 
she  would  lag  behind  and  cry  softly  to  herself,  for 
her  boy  was  dear  to  that  old  heart.  When  they 
.began  to  go  up  the  side  of  the  mountain,  Darwin 
had  to  go  first  to  break  back  the  thick  undergrowth. 
Presently  he  stumbled  and  had  to  catch  at  hazel 
bushes  to  keep  from  falling. 

'  'Good  God!'    he  exclaimed,  'and  he  tried  to 
save  me  from  this ! ' 

"But  his  words  seemed  to  die  away  within  his 
lips,  and  in  dreadful  self-reproach  he  bent  over 
Jerry,  shuddering  at  the  deathly  cold  of  his  face 
and  hands.  There,  before  them,  the  boy  Jerry  lay, 
spent  and  done.  His  head  rested  upon  a  bed  of 
blood -withered  ferns." 

Frost  gazed  at  the  vaulted  expanse  a  moment, 
then  said : 

"So  that  accounts  for  the  birth-mark?" 

"Yes,  and  partially  for  her  being  here.  Loyal  to 
that  noble  slave,  she  came  down  and  nursed  Aunt 
Judy  five  weeks,  until  she  followed  her  boy  to  that 
land  lit  by  the  everlasting  sun.  Listen!"  The 
Major  heard  the  piano ;  taking  his  handkerchief  he 
wiped  his  eyes.  "Pshaw,  tears!  why  I  am  as  soft 
as  a  girl,  but  that  music  makes  my  eyes  blur;  I 


86  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

am   back   in  my  twenties  when  I  hear  'Marching 
Through  Georgia.' 

"Darwin's  child  has  been  badly  used  since  he 
died.  He  left  her  the  small  sum  of  thirty  -seven  hun  - 
dred  dollars — not  much.  No,  but  enough  to  keep 
a  girl  in  a  mpdest  way.  But  she  was  deluded  into 
going  away  to  New  York  in  high  society,  and  she 
got  back  here  without  a  cent.  She  is  working  now 
to  pay  for  the  burial  of  Aunt  Judy. ' ' 

The  other  did  not  ask  what  became  of  her  money, 
but  the  Major  answered  as  if  he  had. 

My  wife  tells  me  that  a  man  actually  borrowed  a 
part  of  it ;  what  a  contemptible  thing  for  a  man  to  do. " 

The  singing  was  still  heard,  and  Frost  appeared 
absorbed  in  that.  He  made  no  answer,  but  cogn.- 
mented : 

What  a  delicious  quality  of  voice  she  has .  It  seems 
as  though  it  were  impregnated  with  the  tender  har- 
mony that  must  reign  in  her  soul.  But,  pardon  me, 
I  must  go  into  Lexington,  the  carriage  is  waiting." 

"Won't  you  spend  the  night,  Mr.  Frost?"  asked 
the  Major. 

'  'Thank  you,  sir,  I  have  greatly  enjoyed  your  hos- 
pitality, but  I  must  catch  the  first  east-bound  train. " 

The  crouching  heart  within  him  quailed  like  a 
shuddering  thing,  and  he  went  away  very  like  a 
cur  that  is  stoned  from  the  door. 


A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  87 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HEARTS  LAID   BARE. 

They  sat  in  the  breakfast  room — the  family  and 
Cherokee. 

"Did  I  tell  you,  wife,  that  when  Mr.  Frost  was 
here  he  brought  me  news  of  Robert  Milburn?" 

The  tall,  graceful  woman  thus  addressed  looked 
from  the  head  of  the  table,  and  showing  much 
interest,  questioned: 

"Indeed!  well,  how  was  he  doing?  I  grew  very 
fond  of  the  boy  when  he  was  here. ' ' 

"The  news  is  sad;  he  has  gone  to  drinking," 
said  the  Major,  sorrowfully. 

"I  don't  believe  it;  we  have  no  reason  to  take 
this  stranger's  word;  we  don't  know  who  he  is." 
Turning  to  Cherokee  she  asked : 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  Mr.  Frost  in  New  York?" 

With  a  suppressed  sigh,  she  answered: 

"He  is  an  artist  of  considerable  note,  I  knew  him 
very  well." 

Suddenly  Mrs.  McDowell  remembered  that  this 
was  the  bold  man  of  whom  Cherokee  had  told  her 


88  A   FOOL,   IN    SPOTS. 

much;  so  she  questioned  her  no  more,  for  she  was 
always  tender  and  thoughtful  of  others. 

The  Major  did  not  understand  any  connection  of 
names,  and  he  again  alluded  to  the  subject. 

'  'This  New  Yorker  said  it  was  about  a  girl ;  but 
the  whole  thing,  to  me,  savors  of  some  man's  hand 
— one  who  did  not  like  him  well." 

Here  the  wife  changed  the  subject  by  asking: 

"Who  got  any  letters?"  I  didn't  see  the  boy 
when  he  brought  the  mail." 

"Cherokee  must  have  had  a  love  letter  or  a 
secret,"  remarked  the  Major  cheerily.  "I  saw  her 
tearing  it  into  tiny  bits,  and  casting  them  in  a  white 
shower  on  the  grass." 

"Come,  come,  girlie,  tell  us  all  about  it;"  then 
suddenly  the  lady  said :  "How  pale  you  are ! ' ' 

"I  do  not  feel  well  this  morning,"  she  answered ; 
"the  letter  was  from  a  friend  of  other  days."  She 
stumbled  to  her  feet  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way,  and 
hurried  out  of  the  house. 

There  was  a  touch  of  chill  in  the  air,  and  the  roses 
drooped;  only  wild -flower  scents  greeted  her  as 
she  stopped  and  leaned  against  the  matted  honey- 
suckle arch  by  the  garden  gate.  She  searched  the 
vine -tangle  through,  without  finding  one  single 
blooming  spray.  This  was  Saturday;  no  school 
to-day.  She  felt  a  vague  sense  of  relief  in  the 


A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  89 

thought,  but  what  should  she  do  with  her  holiday. 
She  had  lost  her  usual  spirits,  she  had  forgotten  to 
be  brave.  The  letter,  maybe,  or  the  stranger  guest, 
had  made  the  pale  color  in  her  cheeks ;  the  eyelids 
drooped  heavily  on  the  tear -wet  face,  and  checked 
the  songs  that  most  days  welled  perpetually  over 
unthinking  lips. 

She  had  never  told  of  Robert's  treatment  of  her; 
of  his  cold  leave-taking,  his  altered  look,  for  her 
to  remember  always.  She  had  been  bearing  it  in 
silence.  Bred  to  the  nicest  sense  of  honorable  good 
faith,  she  had  kept  it  alone.  But  to-day  she  was 
weakening;  .she  was  agitated,  and  in  a  condition  of 
feverish  suspense  and  changeful  mind. 

Sunrays  shone  upon  her  hair  as  she  leaned 
against  the  arch,  her  head  bowed  on  her  clasped 
hands,  her  slender  figure  shaken  with  grief.  She 
heard  voices  and  quick  treading  on  the  gravel  walk. 

"You  haven't  aged  at  all,  though  it  has  been 
eleven  years  since  I  was  here." 

"Life  goes  fairly  smooth  with  me ;  and  you  have 
been  well,  I  trust. ' '  She  knew  that  was  the  Major's 
voice,  and  in  the  lightning  flash  of  her  unerring 
woman's  instinct  she  knew  the  other,  as  he  said: 

"I  have  been  blessed  with  sound  body,  but  life 
has  passed  roughly  with  me  since  my  mother  died. 
You  have  heard  it?" 


90  A   FOOI,  IN   SPOTS. 

"Yes." 

"She  made  home  so  dear  to  my  boyhood;  so 
real  to  my  after  years.  She  was  ever  burning  there 
a  holy  beacon,  under  whose  guidance  I  always 
came  to  a  haven  and  to  a  refuge. ' ' 

Then  they  suddenly  came  upon  Cherokee,  partly 
concealed. 

"I  told  him  we  would  find  you  down  among  the 
flowers,  you  little  butterfly.  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me  Robert  was  coming,  he  is  one  of  my  boys?" 
and  the  Major  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  the 
man's  shoulder;  then,  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  he  left  them  together. 

Holding  out  one  hand:  "I  am  glad  to  see  you, 
Cherokee,"  and  he  drew  closer. 

She  crimsoned,  faltered,  and  looked  toward  the 
ground,  but  did  not  extend  her  own  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  was  all  she  could  utter. 

He  went  on:  "The  very  same;  the  Cherokee  of 
old;"  he  mused,  smiling  dreamily,"  her  own  self, 
like  no  other." 

Moving  a  step  within  the  vine  covert  she  said 
with  a  shadowy  smile : 

"I  wish  I  were  not  the  old  self.  I  want  her  to 
be  forgotten." 

"That  is  impossible — utterly  impossible;  I  tried 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  91 

to  deceive  myself  into  the  belief  that  this  would  be 
done ;  you  see  how  I  have  failed  ? ' ' 

Raising  her  eyes  full  to  his,  but  dropping  them 
after  the  briefest  gaze,  she  said,  timidly: 

"Why  have  you  come  back?" 

"I  have  come  back  to  mend  the  broken  troth - 
plight;  I  have  come  back  to  be  forgiven,"  he 
answered,  humbly. 

"You  have  come  back  to  find  a  wasted  youth,  a 
tired  woman  who  has  been  the  victim  of  a  lie,  told 
in  the  dark,  with  the  seeming  verity  of  intimate 
friendship.  You  have  come  back  to  find  me 
stabbed  by  a  thousand  disappointments,  striving 
with  grim  indifference,  learning  to  accept,  unques- 
tioning, the  bitter  stone  of  resignation  for  my  daily 
bread.  I  would  scarce  venture  now  to  spread  poor 
stunted  wings  that  life  has  clipped  so  closely  that 
they  bleed  when  they  flutter  even  toward  the 
smallest  hope." 

He  fiercely  cried,  and  clinched  his  hands  together, 
with  one  consuming  glance  at  her : 

"I  was  to  blame,  Cherokee,  for  believing  that  you 
had  promised  to  marry  Fred  Stanhope ;  Willard  Frost 
is  charged  with  this  as  well" — he  bit  his  lips  hard. 

"And  it  was  to  the  same  man  that  I  owe  the 
death  of  innocence."  Her  voice  was  scarcely  more 
than  a  whisper. 


92  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

Robert  Milburn  turned  upon  her  a  piteous  face, 
white  with  an  intensity  of  speechless  anguish.  He 
staggered  helplessly  backward,  one  hand  pressed  to 
his  eyes,  as  though  to  shut  out  some  blinding  blaze 
of  lightning. 

"Innocence!  great  God!  He  shall  die  the 
death " 

"Ah,  you  do  not  understand,"  she  hastily  inter- 
rupted. "I  mean  that  I  thought  all  men  were  brave, 
honorable  in  everything,  business  as  well  as  socially ; 
but  he  was  not  a  brave  man ;  it  was  a  business 
transaction  in  which  he  did  me  ill.  I  had  measured 
him 'by  you." 

This  was  a  startling  relief  to  him : 

"Thank  heaven  I  was  mistaken  in  your  expres- 
sion of 'death  of  innocence.'  But  you  humiliate, 
crush  me,  with  a  sense  of  my  own  un wor- 
thiness, to  say  I  have  been  your  standard.  What 
made  me  listen  to  idle  gossip  of  the  Club — why 
did  I  act  a  brute,  a  coward?"  his  lips  moved 
nervously. 

"Dearest,  show  yourself  now  magnanimous,  for- 
give it  all,  and  forget  it.  You  are  so  brave  and 
strong — so  beautiful — take  me  back. ' ' 

"Was  it  I  who  sent  you  away?" 

Oh !  do  you  not  see  how  humiliating  are  these 
reminders?     I  have  confessed  my  wrong." 


Here's  to  your  pastoral  sweetheart,  the  sorceress,  sovereign 
of  the  South.'  "    Page  40. 


A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  93 

"But  would  I  not  still  be  a  burden;  you  said  I 
could  not  bear  poverty?"  she  asked. 

He  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  painful  sur- 
prise : 

"Don't,  don't !  I  know  now  that  love  is  the  crown 
and  fulfillment  of  all  earthly  good.  Have  you  quit 
caring  for  me?  I  infer  as  much." 

Hastening  to  undo  the  effect  of  her  last  words, 
she  said : 

"Forgive  me,  Robert,  what  need  I  say?  You 
read  my  utmost  thoughts  now  as  always.  I  have 
not  changed  towards  you." 

His  sad  expression  gave  place  to  exquisite  joy 
and  adoration. 

"I  am  grateful  for  the  blessing  of  a  good  woman's 
love." 

They  passed  out  of  the  gate,  down  through  the 
browning  woods,  and  all  things  were  now  as  they, 
of  old,  had  bgen.  The  bracing,  cool  October  air 
was  like  rare  old  wine;  it  made  their  flagging 
pulses  beat  full  and  strong.  In  such  an  atmos- 
phere, hand  in  hand  with  such  a  companion — a 
woman  so  sweet,  so  young,  so  pure — Robert  could 
not  fail  to  feel  the  fires  of  love  burn  brighter  and 
brighter.  Her  forgiveness  was  spoken  from  her 
very  soul.  Rarely  has  a  wave  of  happiness  so 
illumined  a  woman's  face  as  when  she  said,  "I 


94  A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

love  you  so  now,  I  have  never  understood  you 
before. ' '  There  was  a  degree  of  love  on  her  part 
that  was  veritable  worship — her  nature  could  do 
nothing  by  halves.  Her  soul  was  so  thrilled  by 
this  surcharged  enthusiasm,  it  could  hold  no  more. 
There  is  a  supreme  height  beyond  which  no  joy 
can  carry  one,  and  this  height  Cherokee  had 
attained.  The  restraint  of  her  will  was  overthrown 
for  the  moment,  and  now  the  pent-up  passion  of 
her  heart  swept  on  as  a  mountain  torrent : 

"Oh,  my  dearest  love,  how  have  I  lived  until 
now?  What  a  lovely  place  this  world  is  with  you 
— you  alone.  Kiss  me!  kiss  me!"  She  grasped 
his  hand  with  sudden  tightness,  until  his  ring  cut 
its  seal  into  the  flesh.  He  bent  over  her  head,  put  her 
soft  lips  to  his,  and  folded  her  in  his  arms.  "Sweet- 
heart, I  shall  never  go  away  without  you. ' ' 

All  this  meant  so  much  to  Cherokee — these  hours 
with  him — these  hours  of  forgetfulnf ss  of  all  but 
him — these  hours  of  abandon,  of  unrestrained  joy, 
flooded  her  life  with  a  light  of  heaven.  She  had 
given  her  happiness  into  his  keeping ;  and  he  had 
accepted  the  responsibility  with  a  finer  apprecia- 
tion of  all  it  meant  than  is  shown  by  most  men. 

Where  could  there  have  been  a  prettier  trothing- 
place  than  here  in  the  free  forest,  where  the  good 
God  had  been  the  chief  landscape  gardener.  Here 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  95 

was  the  God -touch  in  everything.  Well  had  the 
red  man  called  this  month  the  "moon  'o  falling 
leaves."  Softly  they  came  shivering  down,  down, 
down,  at  their  feet,  breathing  the  scent  of  autumn. 
Now,  and  here,  nature  is  seen  in  smoother,  softer, 
mellower  aspect  than  she  wears  anywhere  else  in 
the  world.  It  was  nearing  the  nooning  hour  when, 
together,  the  lovers'  steps  tended  homeward, 
and  when  they  reached  the  house,  Robert  vowed  it 
would  never  again  be  in  him  to  say  that  he  didn't 
love  the  South  and  the  country. 

With  what  a  young,  young  face  Dorothy  met 
the  Major.  As  she  looked  up  she  saw  his  wide 
kind  eyes  smiling ;  he  leaned  forward  and  laid  his 
hand  upon  her,  saying,  "My  little  girl,  after  all, 
love  is  life." 

At  these  words  a  tall,  slight  woman  raised  her 
head — a  secret  bond  of  fellowship  seemed  to  have 
stirred  some  strange,  mysterious  sympathy.  The 
Major  crossed  over  to  her;  what  though  time  had 
stolen  away  her  youth — her  freshness  gone,  there 
was  still  sweet  love  gleaming  in  her  lined  face — it 
could  not  be  that  they  were  old.  Tenderly  he  took 
her  warm  soft  hand  in  his,  and  told  her  how  he 
loved  her.  The  sweethearts  looked  on  and  rejoiced ; 
neither  whispered  it  to  the  other,  but  deep  in  the 
heart  each  said,  "So  shall  ours  be  forever." 


96  A   FOOt,  IN   SPOTS. 

"Come,  let  me  bless  you  my  children,"  and  the 
Major's  wife  slipped  a  hand  into  one  hand  of  each, 
and  drew  them  closer.  Robert's  eyes  lit  up;  his 
brave  mouth  was  smiling  quietly,  while  dimples 
broke  out  on  Cherokee's  face. 

"I  trust  the  dark  is  all  behind,  the  light  before, 
and  that  you  are  at  the  threshold  of  a  great,  endur- 
ing happiness-^but  remember  that  Time  will  touch 
you  as  your  joy  has  done,  but  his  fingers  will 
weigh  more  heavily — it  is  then  that  you  must  cling 
all  the  closer. ' ' 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  97 


CHAPTER   XII. 

SUNLIGHT. 

The  marriage  was  to  be  celebrated  in  two  weeks. 
Cherokee  had  too  much  common  sense  to  wish  an 
elaborate  wedding,  when  it  would  necessitate  more 
means  than  she  possessed. 

The  Major  and  his  wife,  who  was  the  personifi- 
cation of  lovable  good  nature,  considered  together, 
and  graciously  agreed  to  extend  to  Robert,  for  these 
two  weeks,  the  hospitality  of  their  roof.  What  a 
sweetly  good  wife  the  Major  had !  The  graces  of 
her  person  corresponded  to  the  graces  of  her  mind. 
The  beauty  of  her  character  found  a  fitting  symbol 
in  the  sweet,  gentle  face — the  refined,  expressive 
mouth,  that  gave  out  wise  counsel  to  Cherokee,  in 
whom  she  felt  so  deep  an  interest. 

Cherokee  had  the  dimmest  memory  of  her  mother, 
whom  she  lost  when  she  was  a  child  in  words  of 
three  letters,  frocks  to  her  knees,  infantine  socks, 
and  little  shoes  fastened  with  two  straps  and  a 
button.  The  Major's  wife  was  so  full  of  charity 
and  tenderness  that  she  did  her  best  to  compensate 
for  the  unhappy  want  of  a  mother.  She  now  gave 


98  A   FOOt   IN   SPOTS. 

her  assistance  in  every  particular  relating  to  the 
preliminaries  of  the  wedding. 

There  is  an  old  saying  that  "honest  work  is 
prayer."  If  thus  reckoned,  there  was  a  deal  of 
praying  at  Ashland  now.  At  the  door,  most  times, 
was  a  large  carriage,  of  the  kind  which  the  Major 
used  to  call  a  barouche,  with  an  immense  pair  of 
iron -gray  horses  to  it,  and  on  the  box  was  a  negro 
coachman,  ready  at  a  moment's  notice  to  let  down 
the  steps,  open  and  close  the  door,  clamber  up  to 
his  seat,  and  set  off  at  a  brisk  pace  along  down  a 
winding  avenue  of  laurels,  to  town. 

As  for  Robert,  it  was  the  union  of  inspiration  and 
rest  that  made  the  days  so  wholesome  and  unique. 
It  was  agreed  that  he  and  the  Major  should  be  no 
care  to  the  busy  ones ;  they  were  to  find  their  own 
entertainments.  One  or  two  days  had  been  passed 
in  hunting  expeditions.  They  had  bagged  quail 
until  the  artist  fancied  himself  a  great  success  as  a 
huntsman.  Then  there  were  morning  strolls  where 
he  could  take  his  thoughts  and  ease  in  the  fulness 
of  all  the  falling  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the  season, 
lyight  winds  strewed  his  way  broadcast  with  leaves 
— leaves  that  were  saturated,  steeped,  drunken  with 
color.  What  a  blessed  privilege  for  a  man  with 
artistic  tastes.  There  was  nothing  second-rate 
about  here.  The  air,  as  well  as  the  leaves,  was 


A   FOOI,  IN   SPOTS.  99 

permeated,  soaked  through  and  through,  with  sun- 
light— quivering,  brilliant,  radiant;  sunlight  that 
blazes  from  out  a  sky  of  pearl,  opal  and  sapphire; 
sunlight  that  drenched  historic  "Ashland"  with 
liquid  amber,  kissed  every  fair  thing  awake,  and 
soothed  every  shadow ;  sunlight  that  caresses  and 
does  not  scorch,  that  dazzles  and  does  not  blind. 

Upon  one  hunting  trip  the  Major  took  Robert  up 
near  Cherokee's  old  home — the  woods  and  fields 
where  her  childhood  passed.  It  was  well  worth  the 
day's  ride.  What  various  charm  lies  in  this  region. 
The  wood  is  alive  with  squirrels  too.  They  stole 
upon  two  of  these  shy  wood- rangers,  who  were 
busy  in  their  frolic,  chasing  one  another  around  a 
huge  hickory  nut  tree. 

"Ssh!"  whispered  Robert,  as  he  motioned  the 
Major  to  lay  down  his  gun.  He  wished  to  watch 
their  antics.  They  were  young  ones  who,  as  yet, 
knew  not  the  burden  of  existence  whose  pressure 
sends  so  many  hurrying,  scurrying,  all  the  day  long, 
laying  up  store  of  nuts  against  the  coming  cold. 
To  these  two,  life,  so  far,  meant  a  summer  of 
berries,  and  milky  corn,  and  green,  tender  buds, 
with  sleep  in  a  leaf -cradle,  rocked  by  soft  summer 
winds ;  with  morning  scampers  through  seas  of 
dew -fresh  boughs.  Only  glimmering  instinct  tells 
them  of  imminent,  deadly  change,  and,  all  unknow- 


100  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

ing,  they  make  ready  against  it,  in  such  light- 
hearted,  hap -hazard  fashion.  Now  they  cease  their 
scampering  and  drop  down  to  earth,  burrowing 
daintily  in  its  deep  leaf -carpet.  One  rises  upon 
his  haunches  with  a  nut  in  his  paws,  the  other, 
darts  to  seize  it,  and  for  a  few  minutes  they  roll 
over  and  over — a  furry  ball,  with  two  waving, 
plumy  tails.  It  flies  swiftly  apart,  the  finder  hops 
upon  a  rotting  tree  trunk  to  chatter  in  malicious 
triumph.  His  mate  sits,  dejected,  a  yard  away,  as 
his  sharp  teeth  cut  the  hull ;  she  has  given  up  the 
contest  and  is  sore  over  it,  though  nuts  are  plenti- 
ful, and  the  yield  this  year,  abundant.  Presently, 
she  creeps  past  to  the  log's  other  end;  the  other 
looks  sharply  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
then,  darts  to  her  side,  pats  her  lightly  between  the 
ears,  and,  as  she  turns  to  face  him,  drops  the  nut 
of  contention  safe  within  her  little  paws.  At  once 
she  falls  to  ravenous  gnawing.  He  looks  on,  rubs 
his  head  caressingly  against  her,  then  darts  away 
to  find  a  new  treasure  that  has  just  dropped  from 
above ;  for  well  they  know  none  were  more  rightful 
heirs  to  nature's  bounty. 

The  men  looked  on  in  silent  interest;  this  was  a 
pretty  sight  indeed,  and  few  manage  to  steal  upon 
it  for  more  than  a  moment.  Their  luck  was  due  to 
the  youth  of  the  pair,  who  thought  they  risked 


A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  '   101 

nothing  by  such  delicious  idling — nor,  indeed,  did 
they;  for  when  the  watching  was  over,  the  intrud- 
ers shouldered  their  guns  and  left  them  to  life. 
The  Major's  next  turn  was  toward  the  big  south 
wood,  whose  edge  they  saw  fringing  the  top  of  the 
bluff.  This  bluff  faces  north,  a  sheer  wall  of  grey- 
blue  limestone,  seamed  and  broken  into  huge 
ledges.  All  manner  of  wild  vines  grow  in  the 
clefts,  grape-vines,  wild  ivy,  poison -oak,  trail 
down  into  the  water.  The  crown  and  glory  of  it, 
though,  was  its  ferns.  The  trailing  rock-fern  runs 
all  over  the  face  of  it,  each  seam  and  cleft  is  a  thick 
fringe  of  maiden -hair  ferns,  wherever  it  gets  good 
root.  Foxes  live  in  the  caves  along  the  bluffs,  but 
the  men  looked  with  keenest  search  and  they  could 
not  catch  a  glimpse  of  one. 

Thinking  of  this,  the  Major  recalled  to  mind  a 
memorable  and  exciting  chase  in  which  they  had 
run  the  fox  into  this  very  place.  He  had  distanced 
them  by  one  second,  and  they  lost  the  game. 

While  they  stood  there,  letting  their  horses  drink, 
the  Major  recounted  the  things  of  interest  about  the 
hunt. 

"It  is  such  royal  sport,"  declared  Robert,  "there 
is  nothing  so  invigorating  as  a  lively  chase,  though 
as  a  sport  its  palmiest  days  are  in  the  past.  To 
be  a  'master  of  fox -hounds'  was  once  a  country 


102  A   FOOI,   IN   SPOTS. 

gentleman's  crowning  distinction.  The  chase, 
when  spoken  of  now,  has  a  reminiscent  tone,  an  old 
'time  flavor.'  ' 

"Notwithstanding  our  neighboring  young  men 
keep  up  this  pastime  of  old  days,  I  go  but  rarely, 
now,"  said  the  Major.  "Various  modern  innova- 
tions, from  wire  fences  to  democratic  ideas,  have 
conspired  to  ruin  the  country — for  fox  hunting. 
Unsportsmanlike  farmers  will  not  tolerate  broken 
fences  and  trampled  crops. ' ' 

"I  should  so  enjoy  just  one  stirring  chase.     I 
wonder  if  we  could  get  up  a  'swagger'  affair,  includ- 
ing the  girls?"  asked  Robert. 
Most  assuredly. ' ' 

And  on  the  way  home,  they  planned  the  hunt. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  103 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PICTURESQUE  SPORT. 

' '  Resounds  the  glad  hollo, 

The  pack  scents  the  prey ; 
Man  and  horse  follow, 

Away,  hark  away! 
Away,  never  fearing, 

Ne'er  slacken  your  pace — 
What  music  so  cheering 

As  that  of  the  chase." 

It  is  dawn.  The  cool  black  darkness  pales  to 
tender  gray.  Singeth  not  the  ballad-monger — 

"A  southerlie  wind,  a  clouded  skye 
Doe  proclaime  it  huntynge  morning?" 

Now  the  long  notes  of  mellow -winded  horns 
come  strongly  up -wind,  undervoiced  with  a  whim- 
pering chorus  from  the  hounds.  The  fox -hunters 
are  out.  What  a  picture!  Eleven  blue -grass 
beauties,  all  roundnesses  and  curves,  mounted  upon 
eleven  Kentucky  horses.  An  equal  number  of  cava- 
liers put  in,  made  a  fair  and  gallant  sight.  The 
company  willingly  recognized  as  their  chief,  the 
new  arrival  and  visitor,  whose  noble  head  and 


104  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

clear -cut  features  were  really  quite  imposing. 
Cherokee  started  out  as  his  companion,  and  she 
occupied,  with  sufficient  majesty,  her  place  of 
triumph.  She  was  upon  "  Sylvan,"  a  splendid 
lead -white  horse,  who  was  the  pride  and  pet  of  her 
care.  What  a  horse — what  a  rider !  Where  could 
you  find  such  hand,  seat,  horse,  rider — so  entirely, 
so  harmoniously,  at  one?  It  is  a  rhythm  of  motion,' 
wherein  grace  has  wedded  strength.  Mark  the  fire, 
the  spirit  of  the  beast;  his  noble  lift  of  head,  arch- 
ing neck,  with  its  silky,  flowing  mane;  his  clean 
flat  leg,  his  streaming  tail  of  silver  shining.  How 
he  loves  his  mistress  who  sits  him  so  light,  so 
firm,  so  easily  swaying;  she  bends  him  to  her  will 
by  master -strength;  yet  pats  and  soothes  as  she 
might  a  frightened  child.  Sweetness  and  strength ! 
that  is  all  the  magic.  The  rein  is  a  channel  through 
which  intelligence  goes  most  subtly.  Good  Sylvan 
knows  and  loves  his  rider — feels  her  vividly  to 
the  core  of  his  quick  sense;  will  serve  her  unques- 
tioning to  the  limit  of  his  speed  and  stay. 

"The  hunters  have  started  in  a  south-easterly 
direction,  the  musical -winding  of  horns,  wreath- 
ing like  a  thread  of  gold,  through  the  heart  of  the 
town. 

lyisten !  they  are  now  at  the  creek  ford ;  hear  the 
splash  and  beat  of  hoofs.  The  dogs  ahead,  are 


A   FOOL   IN  SPOTS.  105 

running  in  leaping  circles  through  field  and  wood. 
A  whimpering  challenge  comes  sharply  from  the 
left ;  nobody  heeds  it — it  is  only  the  puppy,  out  for  a 
first  run,  as  yet  scarce  knowing  the  scent  he  seeks. 
Most  likely  he  As  trailing  a  rabbit — but  no ;  a  bell  - 
like  note  echoes  him.  Trumpet,  king^of  the  pack, 
cries  loud  and  free — all  the  rest  break  out  in  thrill  - 
ing  jangle,  and  set  all  the  valley  a -ring.  Up,  up, 
it  swells,  truly  a  jocund  noise,  under  these  low  pale 
clouds ,  this  watery  moon ,  this  reddening  east.  They 
are  headed  up  wind,  the  cool  air  goes  back  heavy  - 
freighted  with  the  wild  dog-music.  Hoof-beats 
sound  sharply  through  it.  Sylvan  is  close  behind 
the  leading  hound.  What  sharp,  exultant  shrilling 
comes  out  from  the  followers'  throats.  All  the  hunt 
is  whooping,  yelling,  as  it  streams  through  dusk  of 
dawn.  Up,  then  down,  they  go;  along  a  gentle 
slope  from  whose  sparse  flints  the  hoofs  strike  fire. 
A  fair  world  smiles  up  from  either  hand,  but  they 
have  no  eye,  no  thought  for  it.  The  thrilling, 
breathless  motion  wraps  them  away  from  other 
senses;  they  are  drunken  with  "wine  o'  the  morn- 
ing." Truly,  it  is  the  breath  of  life  they  draw,  in 
this  rush  through  the  dew -fresh  air. 

Note  the  leader  now,  urging  his  mare;  what 
feet  are  hers — small,  firm,  unerring.  Her  skim- 
ming gallop  is  as  the  flight  of  a  bird — her  leap  a 


106  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

veritable  soar.  See !  the  fox  has  doubled ;  now  the 
full  cry  rings  down -wind.  See  the  dogs  tumbling, 
writhing  over  that  crooked  fence.  They  had  been 
running  always  on  view — heads  up,  tails  down — so 
close  upon  their  quarry  there  was  no  need  to  lay 
nose  to  the  tainted  herbage  that  he  had  crossed. 
They  caught  the  scent  hot  in  the  air.  All  the  hunt- 
ers knew  it  when  they  heard  the  last  wild  burst  of 
furious  dog-music.  So  hearing,  they  sat  straighter 
in  the  saddle,  gave  the  good  beasts  the  spur;  a  little 
while  and  they  would  be  "in  at  the  death;"  the 
next  field,  certainly  the  next  hill -side,  must  bring 
it.  So  they  crash,  pell-mell,  over  the  low  roadside 
fence,  as  the  hounds  top  the  high  one  bounding  the 
pasture  land.  But  now  Trumpet  stops  short,  flings 
his  nose  to  wind,  and  sets  up  a  whimpering  cry — he 
has  lost  the  trail.  The  fox  has  either  dodged 
back  under  the  horses'  feet,  or  hidden  so  snug  that 
the  dogs  have  over -run  him.  Look  at  the  true 
creatures,  panting  with  lolling  tongues,  as  they  run 
crying  about  the  field,  dazed  out  of  all  weariness  by 
this  astounding  check.  A  minute — two — three — 
still  the  trail  is  lost.  There  is  babble  of  yelps  and 
shouting,  each  master  calling  loudly  to  his  most 
trusted  hound.  The  leader's  horse  champs  on  the 
bit,  frets  lightly  against  the  rein.  Sylvan,  too, 
prances  gaily  under  check.  This  ringing  run  has 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  107 

but  well  breathed  him — the  noise  of  it  has  set  his 
fine  blood  afire.  Soon  a  horn  breaks  faintly  out,  is 
instantly  from  lip,  and  all  the  field  is  in  motion. 
The  fox  is  cunning,  but  Trumpet  is  cunninger.  He 
has  followed  the  fence  a  hundred  yards,  picked  up 
the  trail  where  the  sly  thing  leaped  to  earth  after 
running  along  the  rails,  and  is  after  it,  calling,  with 
deepest  notes,  to  man  and  beast  to  follow  and  save 
the  honors  of  the  field.  How  straight  he  goes ;  his 
fellows  streaming  after  can  do  no  more  than  yelp, 
as  with  great  leaping  bounds  they  devour  the  grassy 
space.  Nearer,  nearer  lie  comes  to  the  dark, 
sweated,  hunted  thing  that  seems  a  mere  shadow 
on  the  ground  in  front  of  him,  so  straight,  so 
skimming  is  his  steady  flight  toward  the  bluff 
beyond;  his  den  is  there.  To  it  he  strains,  yet 
never  shall  he  gain.  Almost  Trumpet  is  upon  the 
prize;  his  hot  breath  overruns  it;  it  darts  aside, 
doubles — but  all  in  vain.  Quickly,  cruelly,  his 
jaws  close  upon  it.  The  leading  horseman,  Robert, 
snatches  it  away,  and  blows  a  long  blast  of  his 
horn.  Trumpet  stands  aquiver  with  delight,  and 
leaps  up  for  a  pat  of  the  hand,  while  Robert  flings 
the  dead  fox  at  his  feet  before  the  eyes  of  all  the 
field. 


108  A   FOOL,  IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

WEDDED. 

It  was  the  seventeenth  of  October — the  wedding 
day  at  "Ashland. ' '  Little  ruffles  of  south  wind  blew 
out  of  a  fair  sky,  breathing  the  air  of  simplicity  into 
grandeur.  Up  among  the  ivy  leaves,  a  couple  of 
birds  flashed  and  sang.  But  indoors,  people  were 
so  mightily  interested  in  a  pair  of  unwinged  lovers, 
that  these  two  sang  their  song  out,  and  then  flew 
away  unheard. 

Carriages  bearing  guests  to  the  wedding  were 
already  rolling  past.  Those  who  alighted  were  the 
intimate  friends.  No  stranger's  curious  stare  would 
fall  upon  this  scene  to  contrast  with  its  fairness. 
No  shadow  was  necessary  to  the  harmony  of  it. 

Robert  stood  at  an  upper  window,  and  his  eyes 
fell  upon  the  matted  honey -suckle  where  Cherokee 
had  first  lifted  so  sad  a  face  to  him — so  sad,  that, 
though  the  first  throb  of  grief  awakened  by  his 
mother's  death  had  scarcely  yet  been  stilled,  he 
forgot  his  own  sorrow  in  the  effort  to  bring  happi- 
ness again  to  her — his  living  love.  How  his  words 
of  tenderness  had  made  her  face  soft  like  the  late 


A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  109 

sunshine  of  a  summer  day.  He  looked  with 
emotion  upon  the  scene  whose  vividness  came 
back  with  double  force  to-day.  Could  all  this 
influence  be  as  fleeting  as  it  was  charming?  What 
would  be  his  verdict  at  the  end  of  a  year — what 
hers? 

He  was  called  clever,  and  "people  of  talent 
should  keep  to  themselves  and  not  get  married." 
Yet  his  love  had  overruled  the  sage's  counsel.  This 
feeling  for  Cherokee  he  knew  could  not  be  called 
another  name  less  sweet.  Since  the  first  sight  of 
her  he  had  worshipped  her  from  afar,  as  a  devout 
heathen  might  worship  an  idol,  or  as  a  neophyte  in 
art  might  worship  the  masterpiece  of  a  master.  And 
she  was  proud  of  him,  too ;  women  want  the  world's 
respect  for  their  husbands.  Would  he,  could  he, 
do  anything  to  make  her  and  the  world  lose  that 
respect?  No,  he  thought  not  now — he  would  be 
away  from  his  old  associations  and  temptings. 
"Artists  are  such  funny  chaps,  they  all  have  the 
gift  of  talk  and  good  manners,"  he  mused,  "but 
they  are  generally  upon  the  verge  of  starvation; 
they  are  too  great  spendthrifts  to  be  anything  else 
but  worthless  fellows.  Now  I  am  not  a  spendthrift, 
and  if  I  can  but  conquer  one  little  evil,  of  which  I 
should  have  told  her,  maybe,  I  will  break  the 
record  they  have  made." 


110  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

Lost  for  a  time  in  this  reverie,  he  was  dead  to  the 
passing  of  the  precious  moments.  Recalled  to  him- 
self, he  turned  quickly  to  the  clock — it  still  wanted 
five  and  twenty  minutes  to  twelve. 

As  for  Cherokee,  there  were  no  moments  of 
sober  reflection.  She  was  too  much  in  love  to  cal- 
culate for  the  future,  and  did  not  imagine  that  so 
delicious  a  life  could  ever  come  to  an  end.  Happy 
in  being  the  help -mate  of  Robert,  she  thought  that 
his  inextinguishable  love  would  always  be  for  her 
the  most  beautiful  of  all  ornaments,  as  her  devotion 
and  obedience  would  be  an  eternal  attraction  to  him. 

There  was  but  one  thing  now  left  undone.  She 
slipped  out  the  side  entrance,  down  into  'the  lawn 
where  Sylvan  was.  She  laid  her  soft  cheek  against 
his  great  silvered  neck.  "I  am  going  away,"  she 
whispered,  half  aloud,  as  though  he  could  under- 
stand. "But  you  know  he  must  be  very  kind  and 
dear  if  I  leave  my  good  friends  and  you,  for 
him,  you  brave,  big  beast;  how  I  hope  your  next 
mistress  will  care  for  you  as  I  have."  She  pressed 
his  neck  affectionately,  the  while  his  eyes  mirrored 
and  caressed  her,  and,  when  she  started  back 
towards  the  house,  he  followed  her  with  a  tread  that 
was  pathetic. 

Inside,  the  rooms,  and  halls,  and  stairway,  were 
wreathed  about  with  delicate  vines  and  roses.  All 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  Ill 

Ashland  was  in  attendance,  if  not  in  the  house 
or  on  the  verandas,  then  gazing  through  the  win- 
dows, or  waiting  outside  the  gate.  Even  the 
negroes,  as  they  peered,  tiptoe,  had  a  sense  of 
ownership  in  the  affair. 

It  was  noon — that  supreme  moment  of  life  and 
light.  The  tall  silver -faced  clock  rang  out  twelve 
silvery  chimes  as  ten  maidens,  in  wash -white, 
entered,  strewing  flowers  in  the  path.  These  white 
robed  attendants,  standing  now  aisle -wise,  made  a 
symphony  of  bloom.  All  eyes  followed  the  bride 
as  she  appeared  on  the  arm  of  the  handsome, 
kindly  Major,  full  of  dignity,  full  of  sweetness  as 
well.  Every  heart  burst  forth  into  an  exclamation 
of  delight  and  admiration.  There  was  youth,  sweet- 
ness and  love  on  her  flushing  face.  Few  brides 
have  looked  happier  than  Cherokee ;  few  men  have 
looked  more  manly  than  Robert  Milburn,  as  he 
met  and  took  her  hand  for  life. 

The  ceremony  was  followed  by  a  shower  of  con  - 
gratulations.  A  hurried  change  to  her  going -away 
gown,  and  they  were  ready  to  take  their  final  leave. 
The  Major  and  his  wife  said  good-bye,  and  then 
again,  good-bye,  with  a  lingering  emphasis  that 
made  the  word  as  kind  as  a  caress. 

A  few  minutes  more  and  they  were  gone.  There 
was  nothing  left  but  the  scattered  rice  on  the  ground, 


112  A    FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

and  Sylvan,  with  bowed  head — as  though  he  knew 
the  hand  of  Cherokee  had  now  another  charge; 
while  over  all  sifted  the  long  benediction  of  sun- 
light and  falling  leaves. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  113 


CHAPTER  XV. 

CHLORAL. 

It  was  a  half  hour  past  midnight.  A  cab  drew 
up  in  front  of  a  residence  in  New  York,  and  two 
men  bore  something  into  the  outer  doorway. 

The  bell  gave  a  startling  alarm,  and  presently, 
from  within,  a  voice  asked,  with  drowsy  tremor: 

"Is  that  you,  Robert,  husband?" 

"Open  the  door  quickly,"  some  one  insisted. 

"But  that  is  not  Robert's  voice,"  she  faltered. 

"Madam,  a  friend  has  brought  your  husband 
home. ' ' 

This  assurance  caused  the  door  to  be  quickly 
opened. 

"Good  heavens!  is  he  ill?  Is  he  hurt?  Bring 
him  this  way,"  she  excitedly  directed. 

The  silken  draperies  of  the  bed  were  trembling, 
showing  that  she  had  just  left  their  folds.  After 
depositing  the  burden,  the  cab  man  bowed,  and 
left  them. 

"It  is  not  at  all  serious,  my  dear  madam,"  the 
friend  began,  "but  the  truth  is — "  here  he  hesitated 


114  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

confusedly,  he  did  not  mean  to  tell  her  the  truth  at 
all ;  anything  else  but  that. 

"Oh,  sir,  tell  me  the  worst;  what  has  happened?" 
and  she  leaned  lovingly  over  the  unconscious  man ; 
she  looked  so  earnest  in  her  grief — so  unsuspect- 
ing— that  Marrion  was  convinced  that  this  was  the 
first  "full"  of  the  honeymoon.  "I  will  help  him 
out  of  this,"  he  said  to  himself. 

"Robert  had  a  terrific  headache  at  the  club,  and 
we  gave  him  chloral — he  took  a  trifle  too  much — 
that  is  all — he  will  be  quite  himself  by  morning. ' ' 

"Oh!  sir,  are  you  sure  it  is  not  fatal?"  Cherokee 
asked,  anxiously,  "absolutely  sure?  But  how  could 
anyone  be  so  careless,"  she  remonstrated. 

"I  do  not  wonder  that  you  ask,  since  it  was 
Marrion  Latham  who  was  so  thoughtless." 

"Marrion  Latham !  my  husband's  dearest  friend. ' ' 

"I  am  what  is  left  of  him,"  he  answered,  laugh- 
ingly. 

She  extended  her  hand,  cordially: 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  3"ou,  for  Robert  loves  you 
very  dearly,  and  came  near  putting  off  the  wedding 
until  your  home-coming." 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  have  missed  it.  Have  I 
come  too  late  to  offer  congratulations  ? ' ' 

"No,  indeed,  every  sunset  but  closes  another 
wedding  day  with  us,"  and  she  kissed  the  flushed 


A   FOOI,    IN    SPOTS.  115 

face  of  the  sleeper  she  so  loved.  Too  blind  was 
that  love  to  reveal  the  plight  in  which  this  accident 
had  left  him.  Call  it  accident  this  once,  to  give  it 
tone.  Cherokee  willingly  accepted  for  truth  the 
statement  that  Marrion  had  made.  Enough  for  her 
woman  heart  to  know  that  her  husband  needed  her 
attention  and  love.  There  over  him  she  leaned, 
her  hair  rippling  capewise  over  her  gown,  while 
from  the  ruffled  edge  her  feet  peeped,  pink  and  bare. 
She  was  wrapped  in  a  long  robe  of  blue  cashmere, 
with  a  swansdown  collar,  'which  she  clasped  over 
her  breast  with  her  left  hand.  It  was  easy  to  be 
seen  there  was  little  clothing  under  this  gown, 
which  every  now  and  then  showed  plainly,  in  spite 
of  the  care  she  took  to  hide  it. 

Art  was  powerless  to  give  these  fine  and  slight 
undulations  of  the  body  that  shone,  so  to  speak, 
through  the  soft  and  yielding  material  of  her  gar- 
ment. Marrion  studied  the  poem  she  revealed ;  he 
saw  she  had  a  wealth  of  charms — every  line  of  her 
willowy  figure  being  instinct  with  grace  and  attract- 
iveness, as  was  the  curve  of  her  cheeks  and  the 
line  of  her  lips.  Imagine  a  flower  just  bursting 
from  the  bud  and  spreading  'round  the  odor  of 
spring,  and  you  may  form  some  faint  idea  of  the 
effect  she  produced.  To  Marrion  she  was  not  a 
woman,  she  was  the  woman — the  type,  the  abstrac- 


116  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

tion,  the  eternal  enigma — which  has  caused,  and 
will  forever  cause,  to  doubt,  hesitate  and  tremble, 
all  the  intelligence,  the  philosophy,  and  religion  of 
humanity. 

All  his  soul  was  in  his  eyes;  Eve,  Pandora, 
Cleopatra,  Phyrne,  passed  before  his  imagination 
and  said:  "Do  you  understand,  now?"  and  he 
answered:  "Yes,  I  understand." — Robert  was  safe 
at  home  and  was  now  sleeping  quietly,  so  Marrion 
thought  he  had  done  his  duty. 

"I  shall  leave  you  now,  Mrs.  Milburn;  he  will 
be  all  right  when  he  has  had  his  sleep  out. ' ' 

"Oh,  do  not  leave  us,  what  shall  I  do  without 
you?"  she  pleaded  in  child -fashion. 

"If  it  will  serve  you  in  the  least,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  remain,"  he  assured  her,  as  he  resumed  his  seat. 

After  all,  he  did  not  know  but  that  it  was  best 
for  him  to  stay.  Too  well  he  knew  that  to  every 
sleep  like  this  there  is  an  awakening  that  needs  a 
moderator. 

Marrion  L,atham  was  a  tall,  splendid -looking 
man,  with  a  proud,  commanding  manner.  His 
intimates  styled  him,  "The  Conqueror."  He  had 
always  had  a  handsome  annuity  besides  the  income 
he  realized  from  his  plays.  He  had  enough  money 
to  make  the  hard  world  soft,  win  favors,  gild  repu- 
tation, and  enable  one  to  ride  instead  of  walk 


A    FOOL    IN    SPOTS.  117 

through  life;  consequently,  he  had  self-indulgent 
habits,  and  was  destitute  of  those  qualities  of  self- 
endurance  and  self-control  that  hard  work  and 
poverty  teach  best.  Yet  he  had  that  high  sense  of 
honor  which  is  most  necessary  to  such  an  imagina- 
tive, passionate  and  self-willed  nature  as  he 
possessed. 

While  he  sat  there  quietly,  Robert  became  rest- 
less. The  stupor  was  wearing  off,  and  the  dreaded 
awakening  came. 

"May  I  trouble  you  for  a  glass  of  water?"  was 
Marrion's  request,  that  would  absent  Mrs.  Milburn 
for  awhile. 

Robert  made  a  ferocious  movement,  and  began 
thumping  his  head. 

"Wheels  in  it,"  he  muttered. 

"Be  quiet,  she  does  not  suspect  you,"  Marrion 
whispered. 

Cherokee  came  back  to  find  her  husband  in  the 
delirious  throes  of  his  spree.  With  sweet  and 
tender  solicitude,  she  asked: 

"Do  you  feel  better,  dear?" 

"I  have  been  desperately  ill,"  was  his  almost 
rational  response. 

"Bravo,"  was  Marrion's  mental  comment,  "so 
far,  so  good."  Now,  if  she  would  only  allow  him 
to  be  quiet;  but  who  ever  saw  a  woman  tire  of  ask- 


118  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

ing  questions,  and  who  ever  saw  a  drunken  man 
that  did  not  have  a  tongue  for  all  ten  of  the  heads 
he  imagined  he  had? 

Cherokee  chimed  in  again : 

"I  have  been  very  uneas}^  about  you.  You  know 
I  expected  you  home  by  ten." 

"Ten!  Fifty  would  be  more  like  it.  I  know  I 
took  that  money. ' ' 

'What  do  you  mean,  Robert?"  she  asked,  as  she 
stared  at  him,  amazed  and  wounded. 

"He  means  nothing,  he  is  flighty;  that's 
the  way  the  medicine  affects  one,"  Marrion 
explained. 

"I  tell  you  she  is  deucedly  pretty" — with  this 
Robert  calmed  down  for  awhile. 

"He  is  surely  out  of  his  head,  Mr.  I^atham." 

"No,  I  am  not,"  thundered  Robert,  "I  should 
feel  better  if  I  were,"  and  all  at  once  he  came  to 
his  senses. 

"What  does  this  mean?  What  am  I  doing,  lying 
down  in  my  dress  suit?"  he  demanded,  "and  it  is 
broad  day." 

"It  means  that  you  have  kept  me  up  all  night 
lying  for  you,"  whispered  Marrion. 

"The  devil  you  say!    have  I  had  too  much?" 

Cherokee  had  gone  from  the  room  with  the  stain 
of  wild  roses  on  her  cheek,  for  she  had  at  last 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  119 

understood  the  situation,  and  its  terrible  signifi- 
cance. 

"I  will  leave  you  now,  old  boy,  and  I  hope  this 
will  not  occur  again.  You  have  an  angel  for  a 
wife." 

"Thank  you,  Latham,  stay  for  breakfast  with 
us." 

"No,  I  have  an  appointment  early  this  morn- 
ing. ' ' 

At  the  door  he  turned  and  called  to  Milburn : 

"Oh,  Milburn,  when  you  have  the  headache 
again,  there  is  one  thing  you  must  not  forget." 

"What's  that?" 

"Chloral,"  he  answered,  chafEngly. 


120  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A   BOLD    INTRUDER. 

That  evening  Robert  did  not  go  down  town  to 
dinner,  but  stayed  at  home,  by  way  of  doing 
penance.  He  sat  in  his  room,  reading;  suddenly 
he  threw  aside  the  paper  and  said : 

"What  nonsense  to  pretend  to  read  in  a  home  like 
this,  I  ought  to  give  all  my  time  to  adoration  of 
you;  few  men  are  so  blessed." 

How  lovely  of  you  to  say  that ;  you  are  the  very 
best  husband  in  all  the  world,  I  know  you  are." 

"And  you,  my  wife,  are  just  what  I  would  have 
you  be. ' ' 

She  lifted  her  face  and  looked  ardently  into  his : 

' '  I  am  so  happy ;  are  you  ? ' ' 

"As  happy  as  I  ever  wish  to  be  in  heaven,"  he 
replied,  with  great  earnestness. 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  it  is  irreverent — sacrile- 
gious  ' ' 

The  sentence  was  cut  short  by  the  servant  enter- 
ing and  announcing: 

"Mr.  Latham,  Mr.  Frost." 

Cherokee,  in  astonishment,  asked : 


A    FOOL    IN    SPOTS.  121 

"Surely  it  cannot  be  Willard  Frost?" 

"S — h — !  he  will  hear  you,"  warned  the  hus- 
band. 

"Then  it  is  he." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder,  though  I  do  not  see  what 
brings  him  here." 

"He  must  have  been  invited;  brazen  as  he  is,  he 
never  would  have  intruded  here  unasked,"  she 
guessed. 

"Now,  since  you  speak  of  it,  I  did  meet  him  at 
the  Club  last  night,  with  Marrion." 

"And  you  invited  him  here?"  Anger  and  sor- 
row were  blended  in  the  voice  of  Cherokee  as  she 
asked  the  question. 

"I  don't  think  I  did,  though  something  was  said 
about  his  calling.  The  fact  is,  I  had  been  taking 
a  little  too  much — too  much — 

"Chloral.  Yes  I  understand  now,  but  how  could 
you  be  friendly  with  him  after  the  way  he  had 
treated  me." 

There  was  reproach  in  her  tones,  that  told  more 
strongly  than  her  words,  of  suppressed  indignation. 
Robert  noticed  it  and  was  visibly  embarrassed. 

"You  forget  he  gave  us  a  thousand  dollar  wed- 
ding present.  He  is  really  a  good  fellow  when  you 
come  to  know  him  thoroughly;  besides,  he  is 
one  of  the  most  successful  artists  in  New  York, 


122  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

and  can  be  of  great  service  to  me.  I  want  to  get 
to  the  front,  you  know." 

Cherokee  had  never  told  Robert  of  their  meet- 
ing, nor  that  very  amount  he  had  so  contempt- 
uously returned  to  her  in  the  guise  of  a  gift — of  the 
reception,  and  Willard's  boast  that  she  would 
again  receive  him.  She  regretted  that  now;  surely 
the  knowledge  on  the  part  of  the  husband  would 
have  restrained  him. 

"You  must  go  to  them,"  she  said  at  length, 
"they  will  think  strangely  of  the  delay." 

"I  must  go;  surely  you  will  accompany  me." 

"Don't  ask  it,  Robert;  make  some  excuse;  I 
can't  meet  that  man." 

"Nonsense!  the  embarrassment  will  be  but 
momentary.  You  surely  won't  stand  in  the  way  of 
my  success;  besides,  Marrion  is  there,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  enjoy  knowing  him  better." 

"Do  you  really  wish  me  to  see  this  other  man, 
Willard  Frost?" 

"I  do ;  how  can  I  expect  him  to  be  my  friend  if 
you  fail  to  receive  him  ? ' ' 

"You  are  everything  to  me,  husband,  and  I  will 
obey  you,  although  I  never  expected  to  be  called 
upon  to  make  a  sacrifice  like  this." 

In  the  meantime,  the  guests  awaited  in  the 
library. 


A    FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  123 

"Latham,"  said  Frost,  "you  are  a  first-rate  fel- 
low to  arrange  things  so  that  I  can  again  meet  the 
lovely  Mrs.  Milburn." 

'  'Again  meet  her ! '  then  you  know  her  already?" 

"Know  her?"  the  brief  interrogatory,  with  the 
accompanying  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  signifi- 
cant laugh,  formed  a  decided  affirmative  answer. 

A  swift  flush  of  indignation  swept  across  Marrion 
lyatham's  features.  The  manner  of  his  companion 
annoyed  him. 

"Why  have  you  never  called  here  before?"  he 
asked,  coldly. 

"We  had  a  trifling  misunderstanding  some  time 
ago.  Report  had  it  that  she  was  somewhat  inter- 
ested in  me,  and  that  too,  since  my  marriage  to 
Frances  Baxter. ' ' 

"And  it  was  to  gain  admission  here  that  you 
insisted  on  Robert's  drinking  last  night,  even  after 
I  asked  you  not  to  do  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  like  Milburn  and  want  to  help  him  in 
his  art.  I  was  free  to  call  without  a  special  invita- 
tion ,  though  I  was  not  sorry  when  he  insisted  upon 
my  coming." 

Hush !  here  they  are. ' ' 

The  two  men  rose.  Willard  Frost's  gaze  went 
straight  to  the  tall,  lithe  figure  that  came  forward 
to  meet  her  guests. 


124  A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

Nature  had  made  of  her  so  rare  a  painting — her's 
was  a  beauty  so  spirituelle — that  it  awed  to  some- 
thing like  reverence,  those  who  greeted  her.  The 
flush  of  indignation  had  disappeared  from  her  face, 
but  the  excitement,  the  agitation  through  which  she 
had  passed  had  heightened  her  color  as  well  as  her 
beauty. 

The  first  thing  that  Marrion  said,  aside  to  Robert, 
was: 

"How  is  that  head?" 

"That's  one  on  me,  gentlemen.  Have  cigars, 
it's  my  treat." 

"With  your  gracious  permission,"  remarked 
Marrion,  bowing  to  the  hostess. 

"I  am  pleased  to  grant  it,  if  you  enjoy  smoking, ' ' 
and  she  handed  them  matches. 

"It  is  some  time  since  we  have  met,  Mrs.  Mil- 
burn,"  said  Frost,  with  cold  courtesy,  while  the 
other  men  were  talking  together. 

"Yes,  it  is  quite  along  time.  Your  wife  is  well, 
I  trust." 

"I  am  sorry,  but  I  really  can't  enlighten  you  on 
that  point. ' ' 

"Is  she  out  of  the  city?" 

"I  am  told  so.  The  fact  is,  she  has  recently 
taken  a  decided  liking  to  a  young  actor.  I  under- 
stand that  she  is  going  upon  the  stage." 


A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS.  125 

Cherokee  was  speechless.  The  coolness  and 
impudence  of  that  man  had  completely  dumbfounded 
her. 

"She  preferred  histrionic  art  to  my  poor  calling," 
he  continued;  "I  have  instructed  my  attorneys  to 
take  the  necessary  legal  steps  to  leave  her  free  to 
follow  it." 

Here  Robert  and  Marrion  joined  them,  and  the 
conversation  became  general. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Latham,  when  they  got  up 
to  leave,  "I  had  almost  forgotten  my  special  mis- 
sion; I  came  to  invite  you  to  a  box  party  next 
Wednesday  evening. ' ' 

"We  shall  be  most  charmed  to  go,"  replied 
Cherokee,  who  had  resolved  to  make  herself  agree- 
able. "  What  is  the  play  ? ' ' 

"It  is  my  latest." 

"We  shall  be  well  entertained,  if  it  is  one  of 
yours,"  cried  Robert  enthusiastically. 

"And  the  name  of  your  play,  Mr.  Latham?" 

"When  Men  Should  Blush." 

"An  odd  title,  but  he  is  famous  for  thinking  of 
things  that  no  one  else  ever  thought  of,"  put  in 
Frost 

"Yes,  I  occasionally  think  of  you,"  added 
Latham,  good-naturedly. 

'  'You  forget  that  thoughts  arid  dreams  sometimes 


126  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

assume  the  form  of  nightmares ;  you  had  better 
leave  me  out — I  might  be  an  unpleasant  incubus  to 
encounter. ' ' 

Latham  smiled,  and  there  was  the  least  tinge  of 
a  sneer  in  his  smile. 

When  Cherokee  closed  her  eyes  to  sleep  that 
night,  she  could  only  see  Willard  Frost — the  one 
man  in  all  the  world  whom  she  loathed ;  the  coldest, 
most  unsympathetic  creature  that  ever  got  into  a 
man's  skin  instead  of  a  snake's. 

True,  he  was  handsome,  but  for  the  red  lips  that 
seemed  to  indicate  sensuality,  and  the  square,  reso- 
lute jaw  that  showed  firmness  of  purpose. 


On  Wednesday  evening  all  kept  their  engagement. 
Lounging  in  handsome  indifference,  surrounded  by 
his  invited  guests,  Marrion  saw  the  curtain  rise  at 
-  Theater. 

His  box  was  the  center  of  attraction.  Wild, 
fervid,  impassioned  was  the  play — this  youngest 
creation  of  his  brain.  The  shifting  scenes  were 
gracefully  sudden,  the  denouement  clever,  and,  as 
the  curtain  went  down  on  the  admirable  drama,  he 
had  shown  the  audience  that  there  was  something 
new  under  the  sun. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  127 

With  some,  to  write  is  not  a  vague  desire,  but 
an  imperious  destiny.  This  was  true  of  Marrion 
Latham;  to  this  man  of  only  eight  and  twenty 
years,  heaven  had  entrusted  its  solemn  agencies  of 
genius.  What  a  vast  experience  he  must  have  had, 
for  few  people  become  great  writers  without  tasting 
all  these  fierce  emotions  and  passionate  struggles. 
It  is  said  that  we  must  measure  our  road  to  wisdom 
by  the  sorrows  we  have  known.  Whatever  grief  he 
had  borne  had  been  in  silence,  and  his  laugh  was  as 
joyous  as  when  a  boy. 

He  was  of  high  lineage,  and  Southern  born;  he 
came  of  a  stock  whose  word  was  as  good  as  their 
oath,  and  his  success  did  not  make  him  cut  his 
actors  on  the  street,  as  some  dramatists  have  been 
known  to  do. 

He  had  arranged  a  little  supper  after  the  play. 
Cherokee,  pleased  with  the  fine  mind  of  her  host, 
and  having  determined  not  to  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  husband's  advancement,  was  the  life  of  the 
table.  She  did  not  put  herself  forward  or  seek  to 
lead ;  much  of  the  charm  of  her  words  and  manner 
rose  from  utter  unconsciousness  of  self. 

She  was  both  too  proud  and  too  pure  hearted  for 
vanity,  spoke  well,  and  to  the  purpose.  If  but  a 
few  words,  they  were  never  meaningless;  and  per- 
vading all  she  said  there  was  that  aroma  of  culture 


128  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

which  is  so  different  from  mere  education.  Should 
she  have  had  no  charm  of  face,  her  gifted  mind 
alone  would  have  made  her  attractive  beyond  most 
women. 

During  the  supper  the  talk  drifted  on  woman's 
influence.  Frost  asserted  that  no  woman  ever 
reformed  a  man  if  his  own  mind  was  not  strong 
enough  to  make  him  brace  up ;  he  would  keep  on 
to  the  end,  an  erring,  stumbling  wretch. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  returned  Marrion,  "many 
a  good  woman,  mother,  wife,  has  borne  the  cross  to 
where  she  could  lay  it  aside  and  take  a  crown. 
Take  the  drink  habit,  for  instance;  once  an  exces- 
sive, always  one.  Now,  I  can  drink  or  let  it  alone. ' ' 

"I  detest  a  drunkard,"  said  Frost,  laconically. 

"But  somebody's  father,  brother,  or  husband, 
might  be  strong  in  all  other  points  and  weak  in 
that  one,"  Cherokee  spoke,  just  a  trifle  severely. 

"And  woman  has  the  brunt  of  it  to  bear,"  said 
Marrion. 

"I  hold  that  we  are  nearer  true  happiness  when 
we  demand  too  little  from  men  than  when  we  expect 
too  much,"  was  Frost's  retort. 

Here  Robert  turned  to  Marrion : 

"I  see,  from  your  play,  that  you  believe  in  an 
equal  standard  of  morals.  You  propose  to  be  as 
lenient  with  women  as  with  men." 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  129 

"Say,  rather,  I  am  in  favor  of  justice,"  was  the 
manly  reply. 

"This  doctrine  of  yours  is  quite  dangerous," 
Frost  interrupted,  to  which  Marrion  answered: 

"It  is  the  doctrine  of  Him  who  teaches  forgive- 
ness of  sins." 

"Ah,  L,atham,  you  have  taken  a  stupendous  task 
upon  yourself,  if  you  mean  to  reform  men,"  laughed 
Frost. 

"Some  men  and  beasts  you  can  improve,  but 
other  natures — like  wild  hyenas — once  wild,  wild 
forever,"  was  Marrion's  bright  rejoinder. 

"I  am  not  looking  for  them,"  was  the  answer. 

"Come  to  the  office  with  me  for  a  moment," 
Willard  Frost  turned  to  Robert,  when  the  sugges- 
tion for  returning  home  had  been  made.  "There 
is  a  fine  painting  in  there  that  I  want  you  to  see. ' ' 

They  were  nearly  half  an  hour  absent,  but, 
engaged  in  pleasant  conversation,  Cherokee  and 
Marrion  did  not  notice  the  lapse  of  time.  When 
the  men  came  back,  the  quick  eye  of  Marrion 
noticed  that  Robert  had  been  drinking,  and  that 
near  the  border  line  of  excess. 


130  A    FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

AN   ERRAND   OF   MYSTERY. 

It  was  some  months  afterward .  Cherokee ,  gowned 
in  violet  and  gold,  was  on  her  way  to  the  Chrysan- 
themum Show,  where  she  felt  sure  of  meeting  some 
of  her  friends.  She  was  walking  briskly,  when  she 
was  importuned  by  an  old  man  for  help.  Dropping 
some  coins  into  his  entreating  palm,  she  passed 
on. 

How  little  we  know  whom  we  may  meet  when 
we  leave  our  doors,  and  before  entering  them  again. 
Often  one's  whole  life  is  changed  between  the 
exit  and  entrance  of  a  home. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Mrs.  Milburn,  how  pleased  I  am 
to  meet  you  here.  Are  you  out  for  pleasure?" 

Whose  voice  could  that  be  but  Willard  Frost's, 
sounding  in  her  ears  like  clods  on  a  coffin. 

"Yes,  I  presume  one  would  call  it  pleasure, 
going  to  the  Chrysanthemum  Show  and  to  get  some 
flowers  for  hospital  patients.  You  know  the  sick 
love  these  little  attentions. ' ' 

"There,  that's  an  illustration  of  what  I  am  con- 


A   FOOIv   IN   SPOTS.  131 

tetnplating.     Do  you  know  I  think  you  are  just  the 
person  I  wanted  to  meet  this  morning?" 

"Why?"  she  asked,  indifferently. 

"Because  you  can  do  a  great  kindness  as  well  as 
give  pleasure  to  some  one  who  is  in  need  of  both, 
if  you  will?" 

"You  want  me  to  help  some  one  who  is  in  dis- 
tress?" 

"I  do.     Will  you?" 

"How  much  does  the  person  need?" 

"Your  presence  would  be  more  good  than  any 
service  you  could  render. ' ' 

"Then  I  will  go  and  get  my  husband  to  accom- 
pany us.  He  is  charitable,  and  likes  to  do  these 
things  with  me." 

"I  have  just  come  from  his  studio;  he  is  very 
busy  now,  and  I  think  he  would  prefer  not  being 
interrupted.  I  have  been  down  all  the  morning 
giving  a  few  criticisms  on  that  'Seaweed  Gatherer.' 
That  is  truly  a  work  of  art.  But  surely  you  will 
not  refuse  me  that  friendly  service." 

Where  would  you  have  me  go ,  and  whom  to  see  ? ' ' 

"A  young  girl  who  is  dying  without  a  kind 
word." 

"A  woman — has  she  no  friends  or  means?" 

"I  am  the  only  friend  she  has,  the  pure,  noble, 
unfortunate,"  he  said,  aiming  at  tenderness. 


132  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

"Indeed,  I  never  refuse  to  help  anyone,  when 
I  can,  but  really  I  prefer  someone  to  be  the 
bearer. ' ' 

"Yes,  but  she  has  requested  me  to  bring  you; 
this  desire  comes  from  a  dying  human  being. ' ' 

"But,  pray  what  does  she  know  of  me;  I  do  not 
understand?"  she  asked,  disapprovingly.  "You 
might  get  yourself  and  me  into  a  scrape." 

"She  has  been  a  model  for  Robert  as  well  as 
myself;  you  have  seen  her  at  the  studio,  and  she 
fairly  worships  your  beauty,  your  gentleness." 

"Strange  my  husband  has  never  mentioned  her 
reduced  condition.  I  fail  to  recall  her,"  and  she 
drew  back  with  a  sinking  of  heart ;  she  wanted  to 
do  what  was  right,  always. 

"Oh,  think  again.  I  am  sure  you  saw  her  when 
you  and  Robert  came  to  see  my  'Madonna';  I 
was  working  on  her  then." 

"Yes,  I  do  recall  a  beautiful  girl  who  was  posing 
that  day.  If  it  is  from  her,  this  request,  I  will 
go." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you;  she  will  be  so  nearly 
happy,  for  she  has  never  failed  to  speak  of  you 
whenever  I  have  seen  her.  I  shall  never  forget  how 
she  raved  when  she  saw  you,  and  a  question  she 
asked." 

"What  was  that?" 


A   FOOI,  IN  SPOTS.  .      133 

'  'Does  her  heart  fulfill  the  promise  of  her  eyes?' 
she  asked  me,  as  though  the  answer  was  of  great 
importance. 

"I  asked  what  she  meant. 

"She  answered,  'They  promise  to  make  some  one 
happy;  to  remove  all  troubles  and  cares,  making  a 
heavenly  paradise  upon  this  earth?'  She  wanted 
to  see  you,  so  that  you  might  swear  that  this  prom- 
ise would  be  kept. ' ' 

"She  must  bean  enthusiast,"  Cherokee  reflected,, 
losing  all  sense  of  the  strangeness  of  this  question 
for  the  time. 

They  started  on  in  the  direction  that  Frost 
wanted  to  go.  She  felt  as  though  she  was  walking 
through  yellow  rustling  leaves,  as  she  had  done 
back  in  her  lesson -days,  when  she  was  trying  to 
steal  away  from  the  teacher  or  playmates  on  the 
lawn. 

More  than  once,  as  she  hurried  along,  Cherokee 
asked  herself  if  she  were  not  imitating  the  leopard, 
and  developing  another  spot  of  foolishness. 

When  they  reached  the  place  there  was  nothing 
strange  or  unusual  about  it.  He  opened  the  door 
and  walked  in,  as  though  he  was  accustomed  to 
going  there;  then  he  softly  pushed  an  inner  door 
and  peeped  in. 

"She  is  sleeping  now,  poor  tired  soul;  her  great- 


134  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

est  blessing  is  sleep" — offering  Cherokee  a  chair, 
1  'we  will  wait  awhile. ' ' 

She  nervously  looked  about  her.  Her  beautiful 
eyes,  so  pure,  so  clear,  so  unshadowed  by  any 
knowledge  of  sin,  knew  nothing  of  the  misery  that 
had  been  in  the  enclosure  of  these  walls. 

Presently  a  frail,  crooked  woman  came  in, 
abruptly.  Cold  and  bitter  was  her  gaze : 

"Why  did  you  not  come  sooner?"  she  demanded 
of  Frost,  sternly. 

"It  was  impossible;  am  I  not  in  good  time?" 

"Yes,  for  you  a  very  good  time — she  is  dead," 
and  a  short,  quick  gasp  came  from  the  withered 
frame. 

"Do  you  mean  it?"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
woman  who  seemed  quite  overcome,  in  spite  of  her 
hard,  cruel  face. 

"Go  and  see  for  yourself,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  room  he  had  entered  before. 

Cherokee  stood  silent,  and  bowed,  as  became  the 
house  of  mourning. 

"No,  if  she  is  dead,  we  need  not  go  in,"  Frost 
said,  quickly. 

But  the  old  woman  recoiled  a  step:  "I  under- 
stand you  are  ashamed  of  her. ' ' 

"No,  not  that,  but  it  is  now  too  late  to  grant  her 
request. ' ' 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  135 

"I  would  know  it,  and  it  would  do  no  harm  for 
me  to  know  that  you  could  keep  your  word. ' ' 

"Then  we  will  go  in;  you  lead  the  way." 

Cherokee  hesitated,  and  the  miserable  woman, 
seeing  this,  cried  in  sudden  excitement : 

"Is  your  wife  afraid  of  her,  now  that  she  is 
dead?" 

Willard  Frost,  at  the  mention  of  wife,  started. 
He  had,  after  all,  forgotten  to  explain  that  to  Chero  - 
kee. 

"Do  not  heed  her  wild  fancy,"  he  whispered, 
as  he  motioned  her  to  go  in  front. 

Instinctively  the  hag  folded  her  wasted  hands; 
most  piteously  she  raised  her  bewildered  eyes, 
imploringly,  to  Cherokee. 

"Won't  you  please  go  in,  for  if  she  can  see  from 
the  other  world  to  this,  she  will  be  pleased." 

"If  it  pleases  you,  I  will  go  in  for  your  sake." 
As  they  entered  the  waiting  doorway,  Frost  walked 
to  the  low  lounge — he  was  more  deeply  moved 
than  he  cared  to  show.  There,  before  him,  lay 
the  pulseless  clay,  the  features  horribly  distorted, 
the  hands  and  limbs  terribly  drawn. 

"This,"  he  said  to  Cherokee,  "was  caused  by 
paralysis.  Nature  was  once  a  kind  mother  to  her." 

He  shook  his  head,  musingly,  and  ran  his  fingers 
over  the  sleeper's  hands.  At  first  he  did  it  with  a 


136  A   FOOT,   IN   SPOTS. 

sort  of  tentativeness,  as  if  waiting  for  something 
that  eluded  him.  All  at  once  he  leaned  over  and 
kissed  the  hands — he  seemed  moved  by  a  powerful 
impulse.  Through  his  mind  there  ran  a  thousand 
incidents  of  his  life,  one  growing  upon  the  other 
without  sequence;  phantasmagoria,  out  of  the 
scene -house  of  memory. 

He  saw  a  vast  stretch  of  lonely  forest  in  the  white 
coverlet  of  winter,  through  which  a  man  followed  a 
desolate  track.  He  saw  a  scanty  home,  yet  mirth- 
ful, and  warm  from  the  winter  wood.  Again  he 
saw  that  home,  when  even  in  the  summer  height  it 
was  chilled  and  blighted.  Then,  there,  he  saw  a 
child  with  red -gold  curls,  and  he  wondered  how 
fate  would  deal  with  that  baby — a  laughing,  dimpled 
romper,  without  a  name. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  pictures  he  saw. 

Cherokee,  ever  gentle  in  her  ministries,  spoke 
kind  words  to  the  old  woman,  whom  she  supposed 
was  the  mother. 

She  had  come  too  late  for  another  good ;  the  dead 
do  not  answer  even  the  most  loving,  the  sweetest 
voices,  and  this  girl  had  joined  the  mysteries.  So, 
what  was  left  but  to  offer  prayers  and  tears  for  the 
living? 

While  Cherokee  talked,  the  woman  sat  very  still, 
her  face  ruled  to  quietness.  At  length  she  said: 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  137 

"She  is  better  dead." 

The  comforter  looked  surprised ;  what  a  strange 
way  for  a  mother  to  speak. 

"Let  us  go,  now,"  urged  Frost,  impulsively.  As 
they  passed  out,  he"  placed  money  in  the  woman's 
hand. 

"Put  her  away  nicely." 

Motioning  him  back,  the  woman  caught  his  arm 
and  whispered : 

"By  the  right  of  a  life -long  debt,  I  now  ask  for 
peace." 

"Is  that  all?"  he  sneered. 

"And  I  hope  you  will  be  a  better  man,"  she 
added. 

They  were  on  their  way  home.  A  flush  crept 
slowly  up  Willard  Frost's  face,  then,  heaving  a  sigh 
and  quickly  repenting  of  it,  he  tried  to  laugh,  to 
drive  away  the  impression  of  it. 

It  had  been  dismal  within,  but  it  was  lovely 
without.  The  gray  transparency  of  the  atmosphere 
lent  a  glamour  to  the  autumn  hues,  like  flimsy  gauze 
over  the  face  of  some  Eastern  beauty,  and  the 
seductive  harmony  of  the  colors  acted  like  magic 
music  on  the  spirit. 

"That  dead  girl  was  once  the  most  exquisite 
piece  of  flesh  I  ever  saw.  This  is  truly  a  legend  of 
the  beautiful.  She  supported  herself  by  posing  for 


138  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

artists,  as  long  as  her  beauty  lasted,"  so  Fispst 
began  his  story,  "but  six  months  ago  she  was 
stricken  with  paralysis,  which  so  misused  her  that 
it  took  the  bread  from  her  mouth,  and  but  for  me 
they  would  have  starved. 

"I  had  great  sympathy  for  the  girl,  and  from  her 
face  I  had  made  many  hundreds,  so  I  considered  it 
my  duty  to  look  after  her  in  this  dark  hour  of 
affliction." 

"That  was  just  and  noble,"  said  Cherokee,  for- 
getting for  a  moment  the  record  of  the  man. 

He  went  on:  "She  loved  me  devotedly,  though 
she  knew  I  was  married,  and  during  her  illness  she 
fancied  she  would  be  perfectly  happy  if  she  con- 
vinced herself  that  I  was  not  ashamed  to  present 
her  to  my  wife." 

"Then  it  was  your  wife  she  wanted  to  see,  and  I 
was  to  be  presented  under  false  colors,"  she 
demanded,  rather  sternly. 

"It  would  have  been  all  the  same  to  her,  she 
never  would  have  been  wiser. ' ' 

"Mr.  Frost,  I  believe  you  would  do  anything, 
and  let  me  say,  just  here,  my  courtesy  to  you  is 
not  real.  I  do  it  because,  strange  to  say,  my 
husband  likes  you. ' ' 

Just    then    they    reached    her    stopping    place. 


A   FOOL   IX   SPOTS.  139 

There  was  considerable  commotion  on  the  car, 
Frost  caught  her  arm : 

"Wait  a  moment,  until  they  put  that  drunken 
brute  off." 

Suddenly,  Cherokee  wrenched  herself  away,  and 
stepped  quickly,  unassisted,  to  the  street. 

In  front  of  her  was  the  man  they  had  assisted 
from  the  car.  A  gentle  arm  was  passed  through 
his: 

"Come,  Robert,  we  will  go  home  together." 

She  never  looked  back,  although  Willard  Frost 
stood  and  watched  them,  a  mingled  smile  of  pity 
and  triumph  upon  his  sinister  face. 


140  A   FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TIMELY  WARNING. 

Robert  sat  in  his  studio,  when  presently  the  door 
opened. 

"My  dear  Latham,"  cried  the  artist. 

"Well,  Milburn,  how  are  you?" 

They  were,  at  last,  alone  together.  Involuntarily, 
and  as  if  by  an  irresistible  impulse,  Marrion  began 
at  once : 

"Robert,  I  must  speak  to  you  on  a  delicate  sub- 
ject. You  are  my  friend,  a  man  for  whose  interests 
I  would  all  but  give  up  my  life,"  and  his  mission 
flashed  across  the  other's  mind. 

"What  are  you  driving  at?" 

"At  the  question  whether  or  not  you  will1  stop 
to  think. ' ' 

"I  most  frequently  stop  and  forget,"  was  the 
good-natured  reply. 

"That  is  too  true;  you  surely  do  not  realize  how 
you  have  behaved  the  past  few  months." 

"Well,  and  what  of  it?     I  should  like  to  know 
whom  I  have  hurt  besides  myself. ' ' 
whg  cares  for  you." 


"  But  he  was  suddenly  awed  by  a  firm  '  .Stop  there!'  "     Page  50. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  141 

"But,  look  here,  Latham,  I  am  able  to  take  care 
of  myself." 

"It  is  a  little  remarkable  you  do  not  prove  that 
statement."  Here  he  assumed  a  more  dignified 
manner. 

"You  mean  my  drinking;  well,  I  pay  for  it, 
and " 

"If  the  matter  ended  with  the  price,  there  would 
not  be  so  much  harm  done,"  retorted  Latham. 

"Very  few  know  I  ever  touch  a  drop." 

But  those  who  know  are  your  nearest  and  best 
friends,  or  should  be." 

"Oh,  well!  the  best  of  us  are  moulded  out  of 
faults ; ' '  the  other  eyed  him  fixedly. 

"And  these  faults  have  a  tendency  to  produce 
blindness.  I  believe  you  fail  to  see  that  your 
morbid  cravings  for  drink  and  fame  are  making 
your  domestic  life  trite  and  dull — more  than  that, 
miserable.  You  are  losing  sight  of  home -life  in 
this  false  fever  of  ambition,  and,"  he  added  gravely, 
"grieved,  ashamed  I  am  to  say  it." 

"This  is  startling,  to  say  the  least  of  it,"  Robert 
exclaimed,  as  he  nervously  thrummed  the  desk  by 
his  side.  "Here  I  have  been  imagining  myself  the 
model  husband.  True,  I  drink  occasionally." 

"You  mean,  occasionally  you  do  not  drink," 
Marrion  interrupted. 


142  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


here,  I,atham;  if  this  came  from  another 
than  you,  I  should  say  it  is  none  of  your  —  —  bus- 
iness." 

"Say  it  to  me,  if  you  feel  so  disposed.  I  only 
speak  the  truth." 

"But  I  must  be  walked  with,  not  driven;  bear 
that  in  mind,  old  boy." 

"I  want  to  ask  you,  Robert,  if  you  ever  observed 
that  the  desire  for  distinction  grows  upon  us  like  a 
disease  ?  '  ' 

"I  believe  it  does,  since  you  speak  of  it." 

"You  know  it,  for  you  have  been  gradually  grow- 
ing weaker  in  everything  else,  since  your  ambition 
has  been  set  stark  mad  over  that  contest.  '  ' 

"Why  should  not  I  let  everything  else  go?  Think 
of  it;  who  ever  paints  the  acceptable  'Athlete'  is  to 
be  acknowledged  famous,  even  more  famous  than 
he  ever  dreamed." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"How  do  I  know  it?  By  the  fact  that  it  gets  the 
mention  honorable  in  the  palace  of  art,  which  is  a 
great  step  —  a  veritable  leap  I  would  say  —  towards 
fame." 

"What  good  are  words  of  applause  echoing 
through  the  empty  walls  of  a  ruined  home?" 

"Ruined  home,"  Robert  repeated,  "preposter- 
ous! My  wife  has  all  the  money  she  wants; 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  143 

dresses  second  to   none   in  the  set  in  which  she 
moves.     What  more  could  a  woman  want?" 

"A  husband  and  his  love,"  said  Marrion, 
emphatically.  '  'Would  you  say  you  had  a  wife  and 
that  wife's  love,  if  half  the  time  she  was  in  no 
condition  to  care  for  your  home?" 

"That  is  not  a  parallel  case.  Drinking  in  a  man 
is  not  so  bad,  it  is  a  popular  evil ;  more  men  drink 
than  sin  in  any  other  way." 

"And  all  the  other  sins  follow  in  its  train." 

"You  know,  Latham,  I  am  moral  in  the  main.  I 
need  a  stimulant;  it  is  something  a  brain  worker 
must  have.  Besides " 

"Besides  what?" 

"I  am  not  happy  since  I  became  so  ambitious," 
said  Robert,  gloomily,  and,  continuing — "I  cannot 
stand  the  bitterness  of  self-reproach.  When  reason 
is  wide  awake,  remorse  fastens  its  fangs  upon  it. 
I — "  His  head  fell  heavily  upon  the  table,  and  he 
lay  there  in  silent  suffering. 

"It  is  your  yielding  to  temptation,  more  than 
your  ambition,  that  hurts  a  refined  nature  like 
yours ;  but  as  long  as  you  can  feel  sorrow  you  are 
not  wholly  bad." 

"I  don't  know,  Marrion,  for  brooding  over  this 
unfortunate  habit  I  have  all  unconsciously  drifted 
into,  sometimes  drives  me  almost  mad;  it  is  then 


144  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

that  the  tempter  gets  in  his  work.  Something  tells 
me  there  is  but  one  way  to  get  swift  relief — drink 
and  forget." 

"But  what  of  the  wife?  Does  it  speak  to  you  of 
the  wearing  ache  of  her  waking — of  the  lonely 
hours  of  her  watching  alone,  while  your  conscience 
rests  in  soothing  sleep?" 

"Yes,  I  think  of  her  love,  her  patience,  but  the 
best  of  us  have  our  faults,  and  a  woman  should 
not  demand  from  the  busy,  anxious  spirit  of 
man  all  that  romance  promises  and  life  but  rarely 
yields. ' ' 

"You  have  been  blessed  with  one  who  demands 
nothing;  she  suffers  in  silence.  Her  very  gentle- 
ness, her  patient  womanliness  should  win  you  to 
right.  But,  my  friend,  she  pines  for  your  attention 
— those  little  things  that  would  tell  her  she  was 
appreciated.  She  is  like  a  tendril,  accustomed  to 
cling,  which  must  have  something  to  twine  around, 
and  make  wholly  its  own." 

' '  I  never  give  her  a  cross  word  ;  I  leave  her  to 
do  as  it  best  pleases  her. ' ' 

"There,  that  is  the  mistake.  The  secret  of  the 
danger  lies  in  that  one  act  of  yours.  How  many 
have  I  known,  lovely  and  pure  like  your  wife,  who 
have  suffered  their  unguarded  affections — the  very 
beauty  of  their  nature — to  destroy  them. ' ' 


A   FOOIv   IN   SPOTS.  145 

"That  is  true;  I  have  known  many  such  cases," 
admitted  Robert. 

"Then,  in  the  name  of  God,  pull  yourself 
together,  man;  brace  up,  I  will  help  you  all  I 
can." 

Robert  raised  his  head : 

"Marrion,  I  have  never  esteemed  you  half  so 
much  as  I  do  now ;  your  interest  is  unselfish  and 
sincere,  I  know  that." 

"it  is,  Milburn,  and  I  am  glad  you  take  it  as  I 
meant  it.  It  has  been  said,  the  loves  and  friend- 
ships of  life  are  its  sweetest  resources.  All  else — 
special  achievements,  creative  genius  in  any  form 
of  manifestation — ministers  to  them.  To  live  in  an 
atmosphere  of  sympathy  is  to  live  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  heaven,  and  often  it  is  true  that  a  man 
must  hold  his  friends  un judged,  accepted,  trusted 
to  the  end. 

The  artist  reached  out  his  hand,  and  the  other 
quit  speaking. 

"There  is  my  hand  and  promise  to  leave 
drink  alone  when  I  have  finished  my  picture. 
Even  now,  I  would  give  the  world  to  look  straight 
into  God's  good  face  and  smile  with  the  glad  lips 
my  mother  used  to  kiss." 


146  A   FOOL,   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

A   PLAINT    OF   PAIN. 

Cherokee  was  sad;  what  wife  is  not  who  has  a 
drunken  husband?  Drearily  broke  the  winter  days, 
and  drearily  fell  the  winter  nights.  One  by  one, 
she  often  watched  the  neighboring  lights  go  out, 
and  human  sounds  grow  still.  When  the  phantom- 
peopled  dark  closed  around  her  companionless 
hours,  then  would  come  the  frightful  waiting — in 
the  watches  of  the  night. 

Waiting  in  that  awful  hush  that  stifles  the 
breath  of  hope;  then,  day  after  day  of  longing; 
can  you  imagine  it?  Forever  busy  at  the  one 
unending  task  of  dragging  through  the  weary 
hours,  from  the  early,  painful  waking  of  dawn, 
alone  with  sorrow,  to  the  tardy,  feverish,  midnight 
sleep — alone  with  sorrow  still. 

Like  a  good  woman  she  sought  to  hide  her  hus- 
band's faults,  and  keep  the  watch  alone;  but 
Marrion  was  like  one  of  the  family ;  he  was  there 
at  any  and  all  hours,  and  she  could  not  keep  the 
truth  from  him;  he  was  sorry  for  her,  and  had  such 
a  sweet,  gentle  way  of  ministering.  To  the  anguish 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  147 

of  her  face  he  often  made  reply,  "Yes,  I  know  how 
you  feel  about  it,  and  I  will  try  to  help  you  if  there 
is  a  way. ' ' 

Cherokee  had  somehow  learned  to  expect  every- 
thing from  him.  She  looked  to  him  for  advice  and 
assistance.  At  first  she  could  see  no  harm  in  his 
guidance — his  help.  But  Marrion  had  that  vivid, 
intense  nature  which  gives  out  emotional  warmth  as 
inevitably  as  the  glow-worm  sheds  its  light  when 
stirred.  She  had  discovered  this,  and  had  endeavored 
to  cool  the  relationship,  but  the  tingling  feeling 
was  there,  and  in  both  herself  and  him  she  had 
detected  a  sense  of  mutual  dependence. 

His  voice  and  step  thrilled  her,  and  her  smiles 
were  brighter  when  he  came  about.  He  always 
had  an  amusing  story,  a  ready  reminiscence;  for, 
having  been  the  world  over,  he  had  gleaned  some- 
thing from  everywhere  that  had  possibly  escaped 
the  eyes  of  others. 

To  Cherokee  he  seemed  the  most  original  per- 
son, acquaintance  with  him  being  like  the  doorway 
of  a  new  life — to  another  world.  Such  was  the 
dangerous  channel  into  which  they  had  drifted, 
neither  discovering  their  peril  until  escape  seemed 
almost  impossible. 

"What  shall  I  do?"  she  questioned  herself,  so 
many  countless,  maddening  times.  Her  determina- 


148  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

tion  arrived  at  again  and  again,  was  to  fly  from  the 
glowing  thistle  that  might  stunt  all  Life's  roses, 
and  make  them  come  to  the  dropping  at  half  blow. 
About  Marrion  Latham  she  was  insane. 

"Insane?"  you  say.  That's  a  harsh  word  isn't  it? 
But  in  love  are  any  of  us  particularly  sane? 
Something  said  to  her,  "try  to  realize  that  happi- 
ness is  not  for  woman,  but  as  years  go  on  you  will 
not  mind  that.  Only  be  true  to  your  sense  of  right 
and  you  will  find  sweet  peace,  and  a  great  con- 
tent will  be  sure  to  come  at  last. ' ' 

She  felt  that  the  best  plan  for  her  was  to  take 
her  husband  away  from  his  associates,  herself  away 
from  hers,  and  let  time  and  change  bring  about  a 
reformation,  and,  in  spite  of  the  warning,  she 
hoped  that  the  old  fond  love  would  come  to  them 
again. 

There  is  no  period  in  life  when  we  are  more 
accessible  to  friendship  than  in  the  interval  which 
succeeds  the  disappointment  of  the  passions.  There 
is  then,  in  those  gentler  feelings,  something  that 
keeps  alive  but  does  not  fever  the  affections.  Mar- 
rion had  influenced  himself  to  believe  that  such 
was  his  interest  in  Cherokee,  but  he  was  never 
more  deceived. 

Cherokee's  trouble  in  regard  to  her  husband,  and 
her  fear  of  the  growing  regard  for  Marrion  were 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  149 

not  her  only  annoyances ;  occasionally  she  met 
Willard  Frost. 

She  could  not  avoid  treating  him  politely,  her 
duty  towards  her  husband  forced  her  to  do  that; 
but  she  regarded  him  with  veritable  repugnance. 

One  evening,  Robert  had  invited  Marrion  to  din- 
ner, and  the  latter  had  arrived  before  her  husband. 
As  he  and  Cherokee  sat  waiting,  the  maid  entered 
with  a  package.  It  was  an  exquisite  surprise. 
Though  it  was  well  into  March,  winter's  keen  blast 
had  not  so  subdued  the  spring  warmth  as  to  keep 
it  from  bringing  into  quick  bloom  the  pansies  and 
jasmines. 

"Robert  knows  how  dearly  I  love  flowers;  he 
has  sent  them  on  to  make  me  happier  and  announce 
his  coming,  the  dear  boy,"  she  exclaimed  with  a 
touch  of  her  old  time  impulsiveness.  She  kissed 
them,  and  questioned  if  they  had  brought  back  her 
lost  faith — her  girl's  joy  in  loving. 

"I  wish  I  could  keep  them  alive  always,"  she 
sighed,  sweetly. 

While  she  began  to  arrange  them  in  the  vase,  her 
maid,  whose  eyes  appeared  like  leaves  of  dusty 
mullein,  stared  at  her  because  she  had  kept  her 
waiting. 

"What  shall  I  say  to  the  messenger?" 

"Tell  him  there  is  no  answer." 


150  A    FOOT,    IN   SPOTS. 

"Here  is  his  card,  madam." 

Cherokee  stared  wildly,  as  if  a  serpent  had  wrig- 
gled around  her  feet. 

"It  is  from  Mr.  Frost — this  gift,"  and  she  ven- 
tured an  imploring  glance  into  Marrion's  face. 

"What  would  you  do  with  them?"  he  asked. 

"Do?     What  can  I  do  but  send  them  back." 

As  Marrion  watched  her  admiringly,  and  saw  her 
take  each  flower  and  lay  it  carefully  back  into  the 
box,  he  felt  that  his  quiet  friendship  was  tottering 
above  a  molten  furnace. 

"1  trust  you  approve  of  my  course,  Mr.  L,atham?" 
she  queried,  as  Annie  took  the  box  away. 

' '  It  would  make  me  perfectly  happy  if  I  were  the 
husband."  He  supplemented  the  impulsive  words 
with  a  decided  blush,  in  which  Cherokee  could  not 
choose  but  join.  Then  he  cried : 

"Why  didn't  we  meet  before,  you  and  I?" 

She  didn't  answer  this,  for,  hearing  steps  in  the 
passage,  she  ran  out  to  meet  her  husband;  whether 
he  was  drunk  or  sober  she  never  failed  in  her  little 
tenderness,  that  should  have  brought  to  him  an 
over -payment  of  delight. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  151 


CHAPTER   XX. 

A   CROP   O'    KISSES. 

It  was  six  o'clock,  and  the  lowering  sun  had 
singed  the  western  sky  with  a  scallop  of  faded 
brown. 

April,  with  her  wreathed  crook,  was  leading  her 
glad  flock  about  the  hem  of  the  city's  skirt,  wind- 
ing a  golden  mist  away  into  the  country's  lushways. 
Nature's  voice  sounded:  "Oh  heart,  your  winter's 
past." 

But  it  was  not  true  with  Cherokee,  as  she  sat  by 
the  window  waiting  for  her  husband.  The  room 
was  quite  still ;  she  was  only  half  admitting  to  her- 
self that  it  had  come — the  divide ;  in  her  hand  she 
held  a  dainty  pair  of  white  gloves ;  in  one  of  the 
fingers  there  was  a  crumpled  paper — a  note,  maybe 
— but  this  she  did  not  know,  though  what  husband 
would  believe  it? 

Presently  he  came  in,  and  she  greeted  him  as 
usual,  though  he  had  been  cross  that  morning. 

"I  can't  imagine  why  I  am  so  tired  all  the  time, 
it  seems  I  do  very  little,"  he  said,  as  he  dropped 
wearily  down  on  a  couch  near  by. 


152  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"It  is  not  so  wonderful  to  me  that  you  are  tired, 
you  are  overworked,"  she  said,  sitting  beside  him, 
"once  in  a  while  you  should  call  a  halt." 

"I  mean  to  sometime,  but  not  yet,  I  cannot  stop 
yet. ' ' 

"Have  you  secured  your  model  for  the  Athlete?" 

"Not  yet,  they  are  hard  to  find.  I  must  have  a 
man  with  solid  and  graceful  curves  of  beauty  and 
strength,  and  they  are  not  picked  up  every  day. 
Few  men  are  of  perfect  build." 

"Mr.  L,atham  has  a  fine  physique,  why  don't  you 
get  him  ? ' ' 

"What  an  idea!  Do  you  suppose  for  a  moment 
that  a  man  of  his  means  would  hire  himself  out  by 
the  hour  for  such  a  price  as  I  could  afford  to  pay? 
Don't  let  me  hear  you  speak  of  it  again,  he  would 
positively  be  insulted." 

Presently  Robert's  eyes  were  attracted  toward  the 
floor: 

"What  is  that?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  a  white 
something. 

"I  did  not  know  I  dropped  them?"  and  she 
sprang  hastily,  as  if  to  conceal  what  it  was. 

"Bring  it  to  me.     What  is  it?" 

She  bowed  her  head  low  and  made  no  answer. 

"lyook  here,  Cherokee,  I  will  see  what  it  is,"  and 
he  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  153 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  him  and  began  bravely 
enough : 

"Robert,  it  is  best  that  you  do  not  see — 

"What,  you  refuse?  It  is  not  necessary  for  my 
wife  to  keep  anything  from  me." 

"Even  if  it  could  only  annoy  you?" 

"Yes,  if  it  half  killed  me,  I  would  insist  upon 
knowing. ' ' 

"I  don't  mean  that  you  ought  not,  that  I — Oh!" 

"Come,  Cherokee,  don't  get  so  confused,  you 
can't  make  a  success  of  deceiving  me.  I  presume 
I  know  it  anyway.  Anna  said  you  had  received 
flowers  last  night  from  Frost — I  guess  that  is  the 
love  letter  that  came  with  them." 

Suddenly  her  gentle  eyes  looked  startled;  she 
was  humiliated. 

"I  would  not  have  believed  that  you  would  ques- 
tion the  maid  about  the  conduct  of  your  wife. ' ' 

He  watched  her  for  a  moment  in  troubled  silence, 
but  did  not  speak. 

"Robert,  do  you  think  this  is  a  manly,  honorable 
way  to  act?" 

"It  is — is  what  you  deserve,"  he  answered 
coldly. 

"You  are  mistaken;  while  Anna  Zerner  was 
making  her  report,  did  she  inform  you  that  I  returned 
Mr.  Frost's  flowers?" 


154  A    FOOL    IN    SPOTS 

"No.  She  did  not  tell  me  that;  I  supposed  you 
kept  them. ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  squarely. 

"Nothing  has  ever  shaken  my  faith  in  you, 
Cherokee,  until  now,  and  this  I  must  and  will 
understand.  Take  your  choice  between  force  and 
persuasion." 

A  deep  wave  of  self-conscious  color  rushed 
over  her  face;  suddenly  she  grew  very  pale,  and 
her  whole  attitude  toward  him  stiffened. 

She  laid  the  little  white  gloves  in  his  hands, 
saying : 

"I  did  not  care  to  worry  or  accuse  you." 

He  shrank  back,  and  they  eyed  each  other  fixedly. 

"I  call  this  a  mean,  contemptible  trick,"  he  said, 
bitterly,  "and  now  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?" 

"I  have  done  all  I  intend  to  do, "  she  said,  calmly. 

"And  pray  what's  that?" 

"Mended  a  rent  in  the  fore -finger." 

Robert  felt  abashed  at  this,  though  there  were 
still  some  ugly  lines  between  his  brows. 

"L,et's  kiss  and  make  up,"  he  said,  and  as  she 
wound  her  arms  about  him,  his  whole  manner 
changed,  softened  into  melting. 

"I  did  not  read  the  note  in  the  glove,  if  you 
believe  me. ' ' 


A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  155 

"I  do  believe  you,  for  it  was  not  a  note,  but  a 
programme  of  'Ogallalahs' ;"  then  he  laughed. 
"And  the  gloves  belong  to  Marrion's  sweetheart; 
he  left  them  at  the  studio  and  I  just — 

"Oh!  that  will  do,"  she  said  merrily,  as  she 
supplemented  his  explanation  with  kisses. 


156  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  HOPE  OF  CHANGE. 

They  were  christening  Marrion's  new  spider, 
Robert  and  Cherokee. 

"We  will  drive  an  hour  or  so  longer,  if  you  are 
not  too  tired." 

"I  am  not  at  all  tired;  let  us  go  on,"  she 
insisted. 

"I  will  show  you  where  Latham's  fiancee  lives," 
he  carelessly  proposed. 

"When  are  they  to  be  married?"  she  asked, 
scarcely  above  her  breath. 

"I  don't  know  the  date,  but  she  will  get  one  of 
the  finest  boys  on  earth.  They  will  have  this 
magnificent  country  home  to  spend  their  summers 
in,  and  that  is  such  a  blessing — the  air  out  there  is 
so  pure  and  sweet  and  healthful.  It  is  a  great  pity 
that  everybody  can't  get  an  occasional  taste  of 
country  life." 

"I  did  not  know  we  had  come  so  far,  but  here 
we  are  in  the  woods — the  real  country.  I  can 
almost  hear  the  frogs  calling  from  slushy  banks, 
and  the  faint,  intermittent  tinkle  of  cow -bells  steal- 


A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  157 

ing  over  pasture  lands.  I  do  love  the  country!" 
she  exclaimed,  fervently. 

"So  do  I,"  laughed  Robert,  "but  the  country 
has  its  tragedies,  too.  For  example:  my  old -maid 
Aunt  once  made  me  weed  the  onion  bed  on  circus 
day.  I  would  have  had  to  ride  a  stick  horse  to  the 
town,  four  miles  away,  where  the  tent  was  pitched, 
but  children  would  do  almost  anything  to  get  to  a 
circus." 

"Yet  you  did  not  get  to  that  one?"  asked 
Cherokee,  gaily. 

"No,  and  for  fifteen  years  I  treasured  that 
against  my  Aunt. ' ' 

"And  I  should  not  wonder  if  you  hold  it  still." 

He  dropped  his  voice  to  the  register  of  tender- 
ness and  said,  sadly:  "I  hold  nothing  against  her 
now.  The  dear  old  creature  had  sorrow  enough — 
she  died  unmarried." 

Then  they  came  to  the  home  he  was  to  show  her. 

After  that  there  was  a  lull  in  the  conversation. 


158  A    FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

If  Cherokee  had  but  known  that  the  plighted 
troth  was  broken — had  gone  all  to  pieces,  in  fact — 
she  might  have  felt  some  relief  for  that  dull  ache 
she  felt.  Suddenly  she  turned  to  her  husband : 

"Robert,  I  have  a  great  favor  to  ask?" 

"What's  that?" 

"Let's  take  a  vacation.  Change  would  help  us 
both." 

"I  am  too  busy,  Cherokee,  I  cannot  leave  my 
work  now.  People  are  never  contented.  Those 
in  the  depths  of  the  country  sigh  for  the  city  excite- 
ment, and  those  in  the  city  long  to  be  soaked  in 
sunshine  and  tangled  in  green  fields." 

"I  suppose  it  is  selfish.  I  shall  not  ask  you 
again,"  she  answered,  resignedly. 

"If  things  were  different,  nothing  would  please 
me  more  than  to  take  an  outing  by  mountains  or 
seaside. ' ' 

"Neither  for  me,"  she  answered.  "I  would 
rather  spend  the  summer  down  at  my  old  home 
in  Kentucky;  you  know  my  cousin  owns  it,  and 
no  one  lives  there  at  present.  I  should  like  to  go 
back  where  I  could  sit  again  beneath  a  big,  low 
moon,  and  hear  the  reapers  sing — where  I  could 
see  the  brown  gabled  barns,  and  smell  the  loose 
hay -mows'  scented  locks." 


A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  159 

"If  that's  all,  you  can  go  to  any  farm  and  see  as 
much." 

"That  isn't  half;  I  want  to  see  my  mother's 
grave,  with  its  headstone  that  briefly  tells  her 
record,  'She  made  home  happy, '  ' '  and  then  she  said, 
with  a  little  sigh:  "There  is  still  another  reason — 
I  would  have  you  all  to  myself  a  whole  season." 

"Would  you  really  like  that?"  he  asked,  bright- 
ening. 

More  than  anything. ' ' 

"Then  I  promise  you,  you  shall  go." 

As  they  drove  up  to  the  stoop,  upon  their  return, 
they  saw  Marrion  waiting. 

When  he  assisted  Cherokee  to  the  street,  he  fan- 
cied he  never  had  seen  in  her  manner  so  much 
softness,  so  much  of  that  sweet,  wonted  look  that 
goes  with  domestic  charm.  Her  fine,  regular  fea- 
tures expressed  nothing  sadder  than  a  pleased 
pensiveness. 


160  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE;  HOME  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

They  had  gone  to  the  country — to  Kentucky. 
The  wind  seemed  to  blow  out  of  all  the  heavens 
across  the  greening  world.  With  -what  light  touch 
it  lifted  the  hazel,  bent  to  earth  at  morning.  How 
gentle  to  the  wind-flower — its  own  spoiled  child. 

Quiet  brooded  over  the  wide,  gray  farm-house. 
All  the  doors  stood  open  to  the  soft  air,  and  Chero- 
kee had  gone  into  the  garden,  where  the  common- 
place flowers  were  in  disarray.  Her  straying  foot 
crushed  memoried  fragrance  from  borders  all  over- 
grown ;  wild  thyme  ran  vagrantly  in  happy  tangle 
everywhere.  She  did  not  like  to  see  such  riotous 
growth  where  once  had  been  borders,  clean  and 
kept. 

The  breeze  came  to  her  like  the  soothing  touch 
of  a  friendly  hand;  the  tall  elms,  nodding,  seemed 
to  outstretch  their  arms  in  blessings  on  her  head, 
murmuring,  in  leaf  music,  "Be  kind  to  her."  The 
effect  was  subtle  as  the  viewless  winds  that  in  their 


A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  161 

very  tenderness  are  uplifting.  Those  same  trees 
had  bent  their  strengthening  shade  in  those  other 
days,  when  she  was  but  a  learner  in  the  infant 
school  of  sorrow,  and  scarcely  able  to  spell  its 
simplest  signs.  She  rambled  through  the  laurel 
greenery,  her  soul  full -charged  with  its  own  feel- 
ings, nor  able  to  restrain  their  passionate  flow. 
Pretty  soon  Robert  joined  her,  saying : 

1 '  I  have  a  surprise  for  you ;  my  model  is  coming 
to-day." 

"Why,  who  on  earth?0 

"Bless  the  dear  old  boy,  it  is  Latham." 

Striving  to  be  strong,  she  said,  softly:  "I  trust 
you  are  hopeful,  now." 

"Yes,  I  am  greatly  helped  up.  He  will  likely 
not  be  here  until  the  night  train.  I  am  going 
for  a  short  hunt,"  and  shouldering  his  gun  he 
walked  towards  the  woodland. 

When  Cherokee  had  watched  him  out  of  sight 
she  went  into  the  house.  So  Marrion  was  coming 
into  her  life  again — the  wound  must  be  cauterized 
before  it  had  time  to  heal.  She  wearily  dropped 
her  head  upon  the  broad  window-sill. 


162  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

The  train  had  already  whistled  for  the  station, 
and  Marrion  was  on  his  way  to  the  farm-house;  he 
could  see  the  red  roof  and  chimney  tops,  half  hid 
in  leaves,  as  he  passed  down  a  road  where  wild 
elders  bloomed  by  rail  fences. 

The  glimmering  water-line  flowed  on  westward 
between  broad  fields  of  corn  and  clover.  Down  in 
the  deep  wood  he  crossed  the  stream ;  here  he  got 
out,  unreined  his  horse  to  let  it  drink,  then  he  lay 
down  on  the  cool  brink  and  let  the  living  water 
lave  his  lips. 

This  was  surely  a  place  of  delight.  The  creek 
was  no  sluggish  stream,  crawling  between  muddy 
banks,  but  a  young  water -giant,  turbulent  and  full 
of  crystal  bravery.  A  vernal  harmony  of  subtle 
sweets  loaded  all  the  air,  while  the  winds  echoed 
their  chant  of  rejoicing  that  mingled  with  the 
waters'  sweep  and  swell,  and  away  up  among  the 
tallest  trees  the  forest  organ  was  playing  the 
anthem  of  resurrection. 

Somehow  there  stole  over  him  a  spell  of  rhythmic 
motion;  the  scene  was  wholly  intoxicating.  It 
seemed  that  he  had  escaped  from  the  soulless  tumult 
of  the  blistering  street  and  found  himself  in  a 
virgin  world.  Wood-birds  bathing  in  the  ripples 
left  them  dimpling  with  delight  as  they,  twittering, 
flew  away.  Ivy  dangled  wantonly  about  him, 


A   FOOL,   IN   SPOTS.  163 

while  trailing  moss  seemed  grasping  him  with  its 
waxen  tendrils. 

Overhead,  in  the  intense  blue,  where  soft  clouds 
drifted  like  mantles  that  angels  had  thrown  away, 
a  wizard  haze  quivered  and  quivered.  The  great 
dark  shadow  of  the  present  was  lifted,  and  light 
beamed  in  where  light  might  never  be  again.  He 
forgot,  for  the  moment,  that  he  held  two  lives  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand ;  he  forgot  that  just  ahead  of  him 
lay  the  untried  road  where  he  would  surely  stagger, 
maybe  fall. 

Arousing  himself  from  the  reverie,  he  reined  his 
horse  and  drove  on.  The  remainder  of  the  road 
was  even  prettier  than  the  first  part  had  been. 
Riotous  bees  stole  sweets  from  blooms  before 
unkissed,  and  the  blossoming  peach  shed  warm  its 
rosy  flush  against  pale  drifts  of  apple  boughs. 


Sundown  was  stealing  through  the  land  as 
he  reached  the  door  where  Cherokee  met  him. 
Latham's  greeting  was  grateful,  apologetic,  most 
pai  n  fully  self  -  reproachful . 

"I  want  you  to  know  it  was  in  his  interest  that 
I  came." 


164  A   FOOL,   IN   SPOTS. 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  and  her  face  strangely 
softened. 

"I  just  couldn't  refuse  him,  though  I  knew  it 
might  cost 

"Hush,"  she  warned,  "we  must  bear  it,"  then 
her  eyes  fell ;  she  held  her  breath,  and  this  electrical 
sympathy  between  heart  and  heart  told  her  that  she 
had  betrayed  herself  to  him. 

Only  a  moment  he  hesitated,  the  next  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair  she  had  just 
taken. 

"Cherokee,  I  have  a  question  to  ask  you;  it  is 
best  that  all  should  be  clear  between  us,  for  I  want 
to  be  your  friend — want  you  to  come  to  me  feeling 
that  I  would  protect  you  in  all  things  except — 

"Except  that  I  will  allow  you  to  advise  me." 

"Then  tell  me,  what  is  Willard  Frost  to  you?" 
he  asked,  with  quick  breath. 

"Nothing  at  all,  I  only  tolerate  him  because 
Robert  says  he  needs  his  influence,"  she  answered, 
solemnly. 

"Well,  I  can't  understand  how  a  man  like  that 
could  help  anyone,  and  I  was  shocked  when  I  heard 
of  your  going  with  him  to  visit  that  patient. ' ' 

"Marrion,  I  thought  my  husband  wished  me  to 
go." 

"On  the  contrary,  he  was  hurt.     It  was  not  the 


A  FOOI,  IN   SPOTS.  165 

mere  fact  of  going;  it  was  how  it  looked  to  the 
world,  such  things  are  so  often  misjudged.  For- 
give me  if  I  talk  plainly,  but  a  woman  can  defend 
her  virtue  easier  than  her  reputation.  Frost  is 
publicly  over -fond  of  you.  He  names  your  beauty 
to  low  men  at  clubs,  and  that  is  calculated  to  injure 
you." 

"Yes,  I  wish  he  lived  in  another  part  of  the 
world.  He  has  done  me  more  harm  than  every- 
body else  in  it." 

Then  they  talked  of  other  things. 

"How  glad  I  am  that  you  will  pose  for  the 
Athlete.  Robert  will  surely  win  now,  for  I  don't 
think  you  have  a  counterpart  presentment  on 
earth,"  she  declared. 

"To  the  world's  advantage,  no  doubt;  but  tell 
me,"  he  said,  suddenly  changing  the  subject,  "are 
you  happier  here  ? ' ' 

"Happier  than  I  have  been  for  some  time" — her 
voice  trembled. 

In  her  expression  Marrion  caught  an  attempt  at 
excess  of  content  and  he  wondered  at  it,  for  he 
knew  so  much  of  her  inner  life,  though  he  had 
never  questioned  her.  In  that  life  he  found  a  great 
deal  to  keep  her  from  being  glad.  He  felt  a  sudden 
twinge  of  conscience,  too,  for  he  knew  that  much  of 
the  satisfaction  he  saw  upon  her  face  was  assumed, 


166  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

lest  her  sad  looks  might  be  construed  into  a  reproach 
for  his  coming. ' ' 

"And  how  is  Robert  doing?"  he  paused,  looking 
at  her  with  half-pitying  fondness. 

"When  he  first  came  he  did  remarkably  well; 
we  spent  a  short  time  with  our  friends,  the 
McDowells,  at  Ashland.  They  sent  over  and  had 
everything  arranged  here  before  our  coming,  even 
the  dinner  served  the  day  we  arrived.  '  Robert  was, 
or  seemed  to  be,  highly  pleased  with  the  way  we 
live  in  this  part  of  the  world.  During  our  stay  at 
Ashland,  we  went  with  our  friends  to  one  of  the 
Governor's  Friday  receptions;  it  was  an  affair  of 
State,  but  under  Southern  auspices  seemed  almost 
our  own.  A  congenial,  pleasant  party,  each 
endeavoring  to  make  you  feel  at  home.  Fresh, 
pretty  girls  served  the  ices,  and  chatted  merrily  a 
moment  or  so,  then  passed  on 

"Robert  looked  at  this  dazzling  South -scene, 
and  in  its  stead  fancied  the  gray -robed  eastern  zone 
dropping  stiff,  scentless,  pensive -hued  flowers.  I 
use  this  illustration  to  you  because  you  appreciate 
things  high-sounding.  But  the  joke  on  him  and 
his  metropolitan  training  was  this — the  first  thing 
he  remarked  on  was  the  unusual  brightness  and 
pretty  gowning  of  the  attendant  waiters,  'But  the 
cool  effrontery  of  their  conduct,'  he  said,  'roused 


A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS.  167 

my  ire  and  almost  took  away  my  presence  of  mind 
— why  they  even  dared  ask  me  if  the  evening  had 
been  an  enjoyable  one,  and  hoped  to  see  me  there 
often.'  He  told  us  how  he  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  brow,  and  told  himself  the  confounded 
impudence  and  intrusion  ought  to  be  swiftly 
checked,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he  couldn't  think 
of  an  effectual  way  of  doing  it.  We  asked  him 
what  he  finally  did.  'I  just  took  it  all,  and  smiled 
back,'  he  answered,  with  a  crestfallen  air. 

"What  was  his  astonishment  when  we  told  him 
he  was  smiling  at  the  Governor's  daughters,  and 
the  queens  of  the  social  world.  We  quite  enjoyed 
his  discomfort,  but  he  could  not  reconcile  the  differ- 
ence in  our  ways  and  the  ones  he  had  known. 

"Of  late  he  seems  to  be  falling  back  in  his  old 
ways,"  she  went  on,  her  voice  sinking  lower  yet. 
"I  hope  your  presence  will  be  strength  in  his 
weakness" — she  sighed  deeply,  but  the  expression 
on  her  face  was  one  of  kindly  resignation  rather 
than  hopeless  grief. 

Marrion  started;  every  syllable  of  that  sweet 
tremulous  voice  seemed  to  unnerve  him  utterly. 

"I  don't  want  it  to  make  your  days  darker,  at 
least" then  he  added: 

"It  is  better  not  to  be  too  good  to  men,"  and 
there  was  in  his  voice  an  accent  of  kindly  warning. 


168  A  FOOI,  IN  SPOTS. 

Cherokee  listened  pensively  the  while ;  she  could 
see  the  path  to  be  trodden  by  Robert's  side,  uphill, 
rough,  bristling  with  thorns. 

"I  have  tried  to  do  what  is  my  part,  my  duty 
always." 

"And  let  me  tell  you  how  grandly  you  have 
succeeded. ' ' 

Thrilling  and  flushing  she  heard  this  compliment. 

"We  are  Rebels,  both  of  us;  perhaps  you  are 
partial,"  she  suggested. 

"I  do  admire  you,  that  you  are  a  Southerner, 
and  more  because  you  are  a  Kentuckian,  but  surely 
you  would  not  accuse  me  of  running  my  political 
prejudice  into  individual  instance ;  I  want  to  give 
you  justice,  that's  all." 

He  met  her  eyes  wide  open  to  his,  and  he  read, 
even  then,  something  of  the  genuine  unalterable - 
ness  of  her  estimate  of  him.  It  was  not  necessary 
for  her  to  return  a  word. 

"Speaking  of  our  home,  Kentucky,"  Cherokee 
began,  "why  is  it  that  writers  quote  us  as  illiterate 
and  droll?  It  rather  makes  me  lose  interest  in 
stories,  or  books,  when  I  see  such  gross  errors, 
whether  they  are  willful  or  not. ' ' 

"It  is  but  a  crop  of  rank  weeds — this  class  of 
literature,  people  have  no  right  to  represent  others 
they  know  nothing  of,  or  discuss  a  subject  to  which 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  169 

they  have  scarcely  been  introduced.  My  characters 
are  actual  men  and  women.  I  have  one  they  can- 
not fail  to  appreciate;  you  will  see  yourself  as 
others  see  you,"  he  said,  in  softer  tones. 

An  ecstacy  of  hope  lighted  her  face. 

"Will  my  husband  appreciate  me  then?" — she 
regretted  the  question  before  she  had  voiced  it. 

"Will  he  appreciate  you  then?  Listen,  don't 
think  that  I  speak  to  praise  my  own  powers  as  a 
playwright.  I  have  been  a  moderate  success,  but  I 
don't  regard  myself  as  a  genius.  The  play  will  be 
a  success  on  account  of  the  leading  character 
which  I  hope  to  draw  true  to  life.  Robert  loves 
you  now,  but  when  he  sees  my  play  he  will  wor- 
ship you  then." 

There  was  that  in  his  earnest,  enthusiastic  face 
that  told  her  Robert  would  not  be  alone  in  his 
devotion. 

"What  do  you  call  your  play?" 

"I've  not  determined  yet;  though  I've  thought 
of  dubbing  it  'A  Womanly  Woman,  or  My  Hero- 
ine.' " 

"Don't  do  that,  for  I  am  anything  but  a  heroine. ' ' 

"No  woman  was  ever  a  truer  one.  What  title 
would  you  propose?" 

"You  want  something  that  would  suggest  my 
real  character — my  striking  characteristics?" 


170  A   FOOT,    IN    SPOTS. 

"Most  assuredly." 

"Then,  remember,  that  I  am  always  stumbling 
along,  allowing  myself  to  be  deceived  and  duped 
into  doing  silly  things,  and  sometimes,  as  you  have 
just  told  me,  compromising  things ;  weigh  all  these 
and  call  your  play  'A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS.'  "  She 
laughed  merrily,  but  there  was  a  certain  earnestness 
in  her  jest. 

"But  where  is  Robert?"  Latham  suddenly  asked. 
While  avowing  his  devotion  to  his  friend,  he  had 
not  until  now  thought  of  asking  this  question,  nor 
had  it  occurred  to  Cherokee  to  explain  his  absence. 

"He  took  his  rifle  and  went  out  for  a  hunt,"  she 
said,  after  a  moment's  silence.  "He  begged  that 
you  would  excuse  him." 

"I  find  ample  excuse  in  the  pleasure  of  being 
alone  with  you." 

"Don't  say  that;  we  must  do  nothing  but  what 
will  profit  and  further  the  end  he  seeks." 

"Trust  me,  I  hope  to  be  strong;  we  must  see  a 
little  of  each  other. ' ' 

"This  is  surely  best,"  she  answered,  with  sup- 
pressed emotion. 

"And  yet,  and  yet,"  he  added,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself,  "I  have  much  to  communicate  to  you,  but 
loyalty  to  my  friend  forbids  confidences,  though  it 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  171 

is  not  wrong  of  me  to  say  I  want  to  see  you  per- 
fectly happy." 

Her  lips  moved  nervously. 

"Oh,  how  sweet  your  words,  and  uplifting,  I 
shall  keep  heart,  and  work ;  I  have  much  on  my 
hands,  as  you  see,"  and  so  saying  she  pointed  to  a 
litter  of  correspondence  on  the  table. 


172  A   FOOI,   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  STRANGE   DEPARTURE. 

The  old  home  rose  coldly  gray  'gainst  the  dark- 
ness of  a  threatening  sky.  But  yesterday  the  scene 
had  been  one  of  almost  unearthly  sweetness  and 
placidity.  Ideal  summer  seemed  to  have  enthroned 
herself  never  more  to  be  dislodged,  but  the  morrow 
brought  a  storm,  phenomenal  in  its  force  and 
destructi  veness . 

At  first  one  could  see,  away  to  the  west,  but  a 
broad  gash  of  crimson,  a  seeming  wound  in  the 
breast  of  heaven,  and  could  scarcely  hear  the  rising 
wind  moan  sobbingly  through  the  trees  that  with 
knotted  roots  clung  undisturbed  to  their  vantage 
ground.  Electricity,  very  like  an  uplifted  dagger, 
kept  piercing  with  sharp  glitter  the  density  of  the 
low  hanging  haze.  Gradually  the  wind  increased, 
and  soon,  with  fierce  gusts,  shook  the  trees  with 
shuddering  anxiety.  An  appalling  crash  of  thunder 
followed  almost  instantly,  its  deep  boom  vibrating 


A   FOOL   IN  SPOTS.  173 

in  suddenly  grand  echoes;  then,  with  a  whirling, 
hissing  rush  of  rain,  the  unbound  storm  burst  forth, 
alive  and  furious.  After  an  hour  there  was  a 
temporary  lull,  the  wind  no  longer  surged  with 
violence,  rain  fell  at  intervals,  a  sullen  mist 
obscured  earth  and  heaven. 

Robert  was  preparing  to  confront  the  weather 
when  there  came  a  loud  knock  on  the  door.  Throw  - 
ing  it  wide  open  there  stood,  in  bold  relief  against 
the  back -ground  of  dense  fog,  a  sturdy,  seafaring 
figure,  dripping  like  a  water  dog.  Rain  was  run- 
ning in  little  rivers  from  his  soft  slouched  hat,  his 
weather-beaten  face  glowing  like  a  hot  coal,  the 
only  bit  of  color  in  this  neutral -tinted  picture. 

"Come  inside,  the  sight  of  a  fire  on  such  a  day 
as  this  won't  hurt  you,"  said  Robert,  cheerily, 
motioning  his"  visitor  toward  the  kitchen  where  a 
warm  fire  blazed. 

"Much  obliged  to  you,  sir, ' '  returned  the  intruder, 
stepping  onto  the  door -mat,  and  shaking  the  rain 
from  his  hat. 

"Another  time  I'll  come  in,"  and  once  more 
shaking  the  rain  from  his  dripping  garments  he 
fumbled  for  something  in  the  farthest  end  of  his 
capacious  pockets. 

"Here's  a  note — they'll  be  waiting  at  the  station 
for  you,  sir. "  These  words  followed  in  the  uncon- 


174  A   FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 

trolled  audibility  of  a  man's  voice.  There  was  a 
rustle  of  paper,  and  the  next  minute  Robert  told  the 
man: 

"That's  all  right;  I'll  be  there  by  eight." 

The  light  all  gone  out  of  her  face,  Cherokee 
turned  appealingly  to  Marrion : 

"What  does  this  mean — where  is  he  going?" 

Shaking  his  head,  sadly: 

"I  can't  tell  what  he  ever  means  of  late." 

Closing  the  door  with  an  impatient  bang,  the 
husband  was  saying : 

"I  can't  wait  for  breakfast;  I  am  going  away." 

"Isn't  this  rather  sudden — what  is  so  important 
as  to  make  you  go  without  your  breakfast?"  she 
questioned. 

"A  matter  that  concerns  me  alone.  Don't  worry 
if  I  am  not  back  by  nightfall,"  and  before  she 
could  reply  he  was  gone. 

Cherokee  bit  her  lips  to  conceal  a  quiver ;  turning 
almost  appealingly  to  Marrion,  she  urged: 

"Won't  you  please  go,  too?" 

He  did  not  answer. 

"Please  go,  and  look  after  him." 

He  was  calm  almost  to  coldness,  and  he  replied, 
tentatively : 

"Robert  would  have  asked  me  if  he  had  wanted 
me  along." 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  175 

"Oh,  dear  friend,"  she  murmured,  brokenly, 
as  she  sank  into  a  chair,  "how  much  better  it 
would  have  been  if  I  had  never  known  loving  or 
wedding. ' ' 

Marrion  looked  through  the  windows  into  the 
bleared,  vague,  misty  world,  the  familiar  landscape 
was  unrecognizable  in  the  clinging  fog.  He  under- 
stood, as  she  did,  what  had  taken  Robert  from  his 
work.  He  did  not  look  at  her,  as  he  returned: 

"I  hope  he'll  quit  this,  sometime." 

"Sometime,"  she  repeated,  "pain  and  struggle 
will  give  place  to  death,  and  then  the  soft  shroud 
of  forgetting  will  help  me  bear  this  grief. ' ' 

"But  I  am  looking  forward  to  the  change  to 
bless  this  life,"  he  tried  to  impress  upon  her.  "He 
will  get  through  this  great  work  which  he  considers 
the  effort  of  a  life,  and  pretty  soon  he  will  leave  off 
the  old  way,  and  then  his  past  will  be  atoned  for  by 
a  future  of  tenderness  and  devotion  to  you." 

"But,  dearest  friend,"  she  broke  in,  greatly  agi- 
tated, "help  me  to  live  in  the  present,  I  am 
weary  of  waiting.  I  hunger  for  repose.  Memories 
crush  me  while  longing  has  worn  my  youth  away. 
I  know  my  one  longing  is  hopeless — hopeless  as 
though  I,  should  stretch  these  hungry  arms  to  clasp 
the  sun  above  us.  I  have  given  up  hope  at  last!" 
Meeting  his  troubled  look  her  face  showed  traces 


176  A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

of  tears.     She  handed  him  a  paper  and  pointed  to  a 
bit  of  verse. 

He  read  to  himself : 

"I  know  a  land  where  the  streets  are  paved 
With  the  things  which  we  meant  to  achieve ; 
It  is  walled  with  the  money  we  meant  to  have  saved, 
And  the  pleasures  for  which  we  grieve — 
And  kind  words  unspoken,  the  promises  broken, 
And  many  a  coveted  boon, 

Are  stowed  away  there  in  that  land  of  somewhere, 
The  land  of  "Pretty  Soon." 

There  are  uncut  jewels  of  possible  fame 

Lying  about  in  the  dust, 

And  many  a  noble  and  lofty  aim 

Covered  with  mould  and  dust 

And  oh,  this  place,  while  it  seems  so  near, 

Is  further  away  than  the  moon ; 

Though  our  purpose  is  fair,  yet  we  never  get  there — 

To  the  land  of  "Pretty  Soon." 

The  roads  that  lead  to  that  mystic  land 

Are  strewn  with  pitiful  wrecks ; 

And  the  ships  that  have  sailed  for  its  shining  strand 

Bear  skeletons  on  their  decks. 

It  is  further  at  noon  than  it  was  at  dawn, 

And  further  at  night  than  at  noon ;  • 

Oh  let  us  beware  of  that  land  down  there — 

The  land  of  "Pretty  Soon." 


A    FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  177 

Marrion  laid  the  paper  by,  and  summoning  all 
his  powers  of  self-control : 

"I  spoke  of  his  reformation  just  now,"  he  began, 
as  if  reading  her  thoughts.  ' 'Answer  me  one  ques- 
tion ;  if  he  never  reforms,  have  you  ever  thought  of 
changing  your  life  ? ' ' 

"You  mean  separation  ;  the  world  or  a  convent?" 
she  began,  gently,  growing  calmer  as  she  went  on, 
"I  had  thought  of  that,  I  must  out  with  the  truth. 
I  went  away  once,  but  a  good  friend  advised  me  to 
go  back.  She  told  me  living  for  others  was  a  long 
way  towards  being  happy. ' '  Looking  on  the  floor 
she  got  out  the  remainder  of  her  sentence,  "and 
now  I  intend  to  stay. ' ' 

As  she  spoke  the  words  to  Marrion  there  came 
upon  her  a  terrible  sense  of  emptiness  and  desola- 
tion. Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  she  arose  to 
leave. 

"I  shall  go  to  my  room  now ;  I  must  think  awhile 
alone.  I  am  glad  its  such  a  sad  sort  of  a  day ;  if 
it  were  bright  I  couldn't  stand  it." 

Marrion  followed  her  to  the  door,  raised  her  hands 
to  his  lips,  and  suddenly  breaking  away  as  if 
unworthy  to  pay  such  homage  cried : 

"I  could  kneel  to  you,  true,  grand  woman.  Your 
resolution  is  full  of  the  gravest,  tenderest  meaning. 
You  think  of  him  only ;  his  reputation  is  dearer  to 


178  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

you  than  your  own  happiness.  This  nobility  of 
your  character  is  the  very  touchstone  and  measure 
of  your  womanliness." 

She  paused  on  the  threshold  a  moment,  then 
hurried  away. 

The  whole  day  Marrion  spent  in  sj'mpathy 
with  her.  If  he  could  find  but  some  way  to 
make  Robert  promise  never  to  touch  another 
drop  of  drink,  he  knew  he  would  be  safe;  for 
he  was  one  man  who  never  made  a  promise  but  to 
keep. 

Of  ever  securing  his  promise,  he  sometimes 
despaired,  but  not  for  the  world  would  he  hint  it 
to  Cherokee. 

As  the  day  wore  to  a  close  the  wind  came  in 
fitful  gusts;  a  pale  moon  glittered  faintly  among 
the  ragged  clouds  that  drifted  across  the  sky  like 
sails  torn  from  wrecked  ships,  Cherokee  sat  by  the 
window  watching  for  Robert. 

In  that  warm  latitude  the  soft,  dewless  hours  are 
spent  in  lightless  rooms  or  on  piazzas.  The  daffo- 
dil tints  of  the  higher  sky  were  reddening  to  a 
guinea  gold.  There  was  no  other  light  except  the 
moon.  Marrion  sat  just  outside,  smoking;  he  was 
allured  again  and  again  by  a  strong  sense  of  Cher- 
okee's beauty  of  face  and  pose,  enticed  by  some 
spiritual  vivacity,  and  hazed  by  cares. 


A   FOOIy   IN   SPOTS.  179 

The  moon,  still  pale  and  languorous,  shone  from 
the  lately  racked  sky  on  the  tree  buds,  so  warm  in 
tone  that  their  color  became  an  old  ivory,  and  the 
limbs  and  branches  black  carvings  and  traceries. 

Faint  mists  rose  in  wreaths  and  floated  in 
gossamer  folds  about  the  trunks  of  the  trees,  and 
at  times  above  their  forms.  The  whole  scene  had 
a  meaning  of  sad  regrets. 

Cherokee  broke  the  silence : 

' '  I  wonder  wThat  keeps  Robert  so  long ;  it  must 
be  nine  o'clock." 

"Don't  be  uneasy,  he  is  doubtless  with  some 
congenial  companion."  Then,  almost  before  he 
knew  it,  Marrion  asked : 

Did  you  know  that  Robert  was  dissipated  before 
you  married  him?" 

He  felt  himself  tremble,  as  if  he  intruded  where 
she  knelt.  As  intimately  as  he  had  known  her,  yet 
he  never  before  had  dared  approach  her  inner  life 
so  nearly. 

"Tell  me  all,"  he  said.  "If  ever  a  heart  could 
open  to  a  friend,  now  must  that  door  unclose." 

"No.  I  didn't  believe  it;  I  should  have  never 
married  him  if  I  had  known.  I  made  a  mistake. 
A  Southern  girl  should  only  marry  one  of  her  kind ; 
he  alone  could  understand  and  appreciate  her 
nature." 


180  A  FOOL  IN  SPOTS. 

It  was  not  prompted  by  accidental  harmony, 
this  answer,  she  felt  he  had  a  right  to  know 
all: 

"When  I  first  loved  Robert,  he  was  a  splendid 
masterman,  and  so  tender  of  me.  He  seemed  the 
breath  of  my  body;  his  heart,  not  mine,  beating 
within  me.  I  fancy  now  that  his  love  was  only  a 
reflection  from  the  flame  that  burned  in  my  soul, 
for  if  it  were  not  true  surely  that  love  would  have 
reformed  him." 

"No,  he  'does  love  you,  and  you  will  yet  be 
happy  together. ' ' 

She  was  hungry  for  his  assurance,  and  her 
"Heaven  bless  you  for  your  sympathy,"  was 
spoken  earnestly. 

"But  I  wish  he  would  come.     Suppose  he  has 
gotten  into  that  quick -sand  in  the  creek  bed." 
'Suppose  he  has  swallowed  the  gun." 

"Don't  speak  so  lightly,"  she  corrected. 

Marrion  thought  as  he  noted  her  anxiet}*- :  ' '  Blind 
devotion  is  the  sainthood  of  woman." 

"Now,  here  he  comes.  I  hope  you  are  happy," 
but  a  chill  gripped  his  heart  as  he  saw  it  was  a 
stranger,  whose  walk  indicated  haste. 

"Ain't  this   here   whar    Mars'    Milburn's    wife 
stay?" 
/    "Yes,  what  is  it?"  asked  Marrion. 


A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  181 

"What  is  it?"  Cherokee  repeated,  coming 
forward,  "has  anything  happened  to  my  hus- 
band?" 

"I'd  bin  out  possum  huntin'.  I  corned  up  de 
road,  and  I  mighty  nigh  run  over  sumpin  in  de 
paff.  I  got  down  and  he  looked  powr'ful  like  de 
artist  I  seed  at  de  station." 

"Marrion;  my  God,  he  is  dead!" 

"Wait  and  I  will  find  out."  He  put  his  arm 
around  her  to  support  her.  The  stranger  kept  on 
talking : 

"I  tried  to  tote  him,  but  he  'peared  like  two  men ; 
he'd  weigh  mighty  nigh  three  hundred  pounds,  and 
den  I  didn't  know  as  I  oughter  move  him  till  de 
coroner  and  de  jury  set  on  him." 

Marrion  could  not  stop  him. 

"He  ain't  bin  dead  long,  mann." 

"That  will  do,"  interrupted  Marrion. 

' '  I  will  go  and  see ;  it  may  not  be  Robert ;  it  may 
be  someone  else." 

"L,et  me  go  with  you,"  she  pleaded. 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  better  fur  you  ter  do  than 
stay  whar  you  is,"  put  in  the  negro. 

So  Marrion  hurried  away  to  look  after  his  friend. 
There  was  no  sound  in  the  gloomy  wood — which 
was  painful — any  kind  of  noise  would  have  been  a 
relief.  The  thick  foliage  baffled  the  slightest  light, 


182  A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

and  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that   they 
groped  their  way,  keeping  in  the  road. 

"Stop!  here  he  am!"  cried  the  negro,  who  had 
been  piloting  the  way.  "I  thought  he  couldn't  o' 
bin  dead  long,  fer  he  ain't  cold  yet." 


A   FOOL,   IN   SPOTS.  183 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

OF  THE   WORLD,    UNWORLDLY. 

It  was  true  that  Robert  was  dead — dead  drunk, 
and  to  drink  was  his  purpose  in  leaving  Marrion  at 
home.  He  had  been  held  in  check  until  he  could 
not — he  felt  it  was  impossible — work  any  longer 
until  he  had  gotten  under  the  influence  of  drink. 

It  was  more  than  a  week  before  he  was  able  to 
resume  his  work.  Marrion  put  his  best  efforts 
forth  to  sober  him,  but  all  resulted  in  failure.  This 
annoyed  him  more  than  he  dared  tell  Cherokee. 
He  felt  that  Robert  had  not  the  proper  appreciation ; 
for  here  he  had  given  up  his  work  and  pleasures  for 
a  time,  that  he  might  aid  in  the  artist's  advance- 
ment. It  surely  seemed  a  thankless  task. 

One  day,  when  patience  was  exhausted,  he 
poured  forth  his  very  soul  in  one  long,  fervent — 
swear;  took  up  his  hat  and  started  out  for  a  walk. 

As  he  tramped,  wondered,  swore,  he  strolled  on 
toward  the  stream.  He  always  was  a  dream -haunter 
of  the  woods,  realizing  that  communion  with  nature 


184  A  FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

strangely  ministers  to  heart  wounds  and  breathes 
sweetened  memories. 

Suddenly  his  steps  were  arrested  by  the  spectacle 
of  Cherokee  lying  at  full  length  upon  the  grass,  one 
arm  lay  across  her  eyes,  the  other  was  stretched  on 
the  ground.  She  had  never  looked  prettier.  He 
sat  down  by  her  and  took  her  hand.  A  thousand 
thoughts  chased  themselves  with  lightning  speed 
through  his  brain ;  meanwhile  the  pressure  of  that 
hand  continued;  he  leaned  over,  took  her  arm 
away,  and  looked  down  into  her  face. 

Whether  it  came  to  him  suddenly  as  a  revelation, 
or  grew  upon  him  like  a  widening  light — that  knowl- 
edge of  a  love  that  wronged  his  honor — it  had  come 
too  late.  Had  he  been  asleep,  or  mad,  that  this 
should  have  conquered  him  unawares. 

Where  was  his  experience  of  human  nature — his 
worldly  wisdom — his  ever  abiding  sense  of  honor — 
that  he  should  have  allowed  a  love  for  another 
man's  wife  to  enter  his  thoughts  and  take  posses- 
sion, and  that  man  his  dearest  friend! 

It  seemed  but  yesterday  that  this  woman  was  to 
him  only  as  dear  as  a  friend  might  be,  without 
wrong  to  his  or  her  own  faith.  Now  he  knew  she 
was  more — a  thousand  times  dearer  than  all  life 
lives  for — dearer  than  all  save  honor,  if,  indeed,  he 
questioned,  that  were  not  already  lost. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  185 

Yet  no,  there  was  no  wrong.  His  love  was 
worship,  instinct  with  reverence,  he  could  not  for 
that  very  love's  sake  destroy  its  object. 

"You  want  me  to  go  away  and  leave  you  alone, 
Cherokee?"  he  asked. 

"No,  Marrion,  no!  I  am  too  much  alone,  and 
that  makes  me  hungry,  desperately  hungry,  for 
companionship,"  she  stammered.  "But,  tell  me, 
how  is  Robert?" 

No  better ;  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  ask  you  to 
be  brave  any  more,  for  I've  hoped  so  long  without 
fulfillment. ' ' 

She  answered:  "I  ask  myself  how  long  this 
banishment  is  to  last — this  exile  from  joy." 

"Everything  here  has  an  end;  the  brighter  side 
may  come  at  last. ' ' 

"No,  it  will  never  come,  it  is  all  a  mistake;  even 
life  itself." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,  Cherokee;   I  am  with  you. 

Don't  you  care  for "     Here  he  stopped,  but  she 

understood,  and  her  answer,  said  in  silence,  was 
the  sweetest  word  of  all. 

"I  must  speak  this  once  at  any  cost — Great 
God!  and  forgive  me,  I  love  her  so,"  he  whis- 
pered, as"  he  seized  her  listless  form,  so  unre- 
sisting, and  wildly  kissed  her  brow,  her  lips,  her 
hair,  her  eyelids — sealed  her  to  him  by  those 


186  A    FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

caresses  that  were  prompted  by  love's  unreasoning 
fury. 

The  whole  earth  revolved  in  one  vast  throb  of 
song,  and  the  wind,  entuned,  seemed  to  catch  the 
music  in  its  chase.  Nothing  under  the  sun  could 
equal  those  moments  with  them. 

At  first  they  were  so  happy ;  then  there  came  a 
desire — which  comes  to  those  of  deep  and  tender 
sensibilities  when  their  felicity  becomes  so  acute 
that  it  verges  upon  pain — the  desire,  the  involuntary 
longing,  to  die — an  abandon  of  self — a  forgetting. 

In  this  moment  of  delirium  he  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"I  have  known  from  the  first  that  we  were  meant 
for  each  other. ' ' 

She  did  not  answer;  she  was  so  thoroughly  intox- 
icated just  then,  that  if  he  should  have  dared  to 
give  her  blows  her  heart  would  have  arraigned  him 
at  its  bar,  with  weeping  paid  the  costs,  and  swore 
the  blow  was  kind — she  loved  him  so. 

"I  say  that  we  were  meant  for  each  other,"  he 
repeated.  "Love  like  ours  should  be  the  first  law 
of  the  universe,  after  love  of  God." 

"I  am  thy  neighbor's  wife,"  she  answered, 
slowly. 

"I  now  admit  no  ties  except  the  one  that  fate  has 
made  between  your  heart  and  mine." 


A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  187 

"Think,  Marrion,  of  what  you  say.  Is  it  a  sin 
for  us  to  love  ? ' ' 

He  could  not  answer  at  once — all  the  iron  in  his 
strong  nature  was  broken  down.  His  emotions,  so 
long  withheld,  and  now  uncontrolled,  were  more 
than  he  could  bear. 

He  looked  long  into  her  trusting  countenance. 
He  was  seeking  by  a  violent  effort  to  master  him- 
self; but  it  was  only  by  the  heaving  of  his  breast, 
and  now  and  then  a  gasp  for  breath,  that  he 
betrayed  the  stormy  struggle  within.  .  Though  his 
nature  was  full  of  the  softer  sympathies  he  could 
not  call  them  to  the  front — he  was  but  man.  This 
was  the  crucial  test. 

There  is  in  some  affections  so  much  to  purify  and 
exalt,  that  even  an  erring  love,  conceived  without  a 
cold  design,  and  wrestled  against  with  a  noble 
spirit,  leaves  the  heart  more  tolerant  and  tender  if 
it  leaves  it  in  time. 

"It  may  be  wrong,"  he  said,  at  length,  "but  this 
is  our  fate — our  fate,"  as  if  waking  from  some 
hideous  dream. 

"We  are  creatures  of  destiny,  I  have  fought  this 
love  but  it  would  not  die.  The  very  loneliness  of 
your  existence  appeals  to  me ;  but  for  that,  I  might 
have  conquered. ' ' 

"And   your    tender   care   and    help    have    often 


188  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

reconciled  me  to  my  lot,  and  extinguished  many 
bitter  feelings  in  me." 

"You  trusted  me,  Cherokee,  and  I  believe  there 
is  a  kind  of  sanctity  in  your  ignorance  and  trust — 
there  is  a  soul  about  you  as  well  as  a  body.  Is  it 
with  that  soul  you  have  loved  me?" 

"Yes,  Marrion,  I  love  you  better  than  life  now." 

"Then  our  love  can  surely  not  be  wrong.  Depend 
upon  it,  that  God  Almighty,  who  sums  up  all  the 
good  and  evil  done  by  his  children,  will  not  judge 
the  world  with  the  same  unequal  severity  as  those 
drones  of  society.  Surely  He  requires  not  such 
sacrifices  from  us;  no,  not  even  the  wrathful, 
avenging  Father." 

His  tone  was  one  of  infinite  persuasion. 

"God  understands  what  you  are  to  me — youth, 
beauty,  truth,  hope  and  life." 

"You  forget  your  friend,  my  husband,"  she 
warned. 

"No,  I  do  not  forget.  He  is  a  man  for  whom  I 
would  all  but  die,  but  I  love  you  better  than 
anything  else." 

"And  that  is  more  than  he  does,"  she  broke  in, 
sorrowfully. 

"Cherokee,  be  mine  in  spirit?  I  plead  as  an 
innocent  man  pleads  for  justice." 

"Stop!"  she  cried,  "  let  me  speak.     You  have  a 


Wait!'  cried  a  firm,  but  sweet  voice."     Page  229. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  189 

profound  and  generous  soul  to  hear  me.  Let  me 
ask  you  not  to  tempt  me;  we  have  gone  already 
too  far. ' ' 

"Not  too  far  when  it  is  with  me  that  you  go." 

"Yes,  Marrion  it  is,  unless  we  could  go  all  of 
life's  road  together.  I  love  you,  that  you  know, 
but  I  come  to  you  now,  begging  you  not  to  tempt 
me,  but  to  help  to  make  me  strong,  and  to  follow 
the  road  of  sacrifice  and  duty.  My  heart  cries  out 
to  you,  but  let  me  not  hear.  If  you  love  me,  prove 
it,  and  leave  me. "  Her  voice  died  in  a  wail,  it  was 
a  loving,  weak  soul's  despairing  cry. 

Marrion  stood  for  a  moment  immovable,  then  he 
took  her  hand  with  reverential  homage. 

"Cherokee,  you  have  raised  all  womankind  in 
my  eyes.  I  did  love  you — now  I  worship  you. 
Your  open  frankness  is  so  unlike  the  irresolute 
frailty,  the  miserable  wiles  of  your  sex.  You  have 
touched  a  chord  in  my  heart  that  has  been  mute  for 
years.  To  me  you  are  a  garden  of  roses,  you  have 
bloomed  even  under  blight.  Beholding  you  now, 
I  am  enabled  to  forget  that  the  world  is  evil." 

"Blessed  be  that  influence,"  she  murmured, 
sweetly. 

"Yes,  God's  blessing  upon  it,"  he  repeated. 
And  he  thought  of  what  pangs  her  high  spirit  must 
have  endured  ere  it  had  submitted  to  the  avowal  it 


190  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

had  made.  She  had  been  honest  enough  to  confess 
that  she  was  weak — that  she  loved  him,  but  that 
very  confession  was  as  a  tower  of  strength  to  him. 

"Cherokee,  my  idol,  what  will  you  of  me?"  be 
asked,  in  tender  manly  tones. 

"I  want  you  to  promise,  Marrion  that  you  will 
always  like  me ;  let  us  be  what  human  nature  and 
worldly  forms  seldom  allow  those  of  opposite  sexes 
to  be — friends;  having  for  each  other  that  esteem 
which  would  be  love  if  the  hearts  were  unadulter- 
ated by  clay.  Your  memory  will  be  my  nearest 
approach  to  happiness.  I  shall  never  be  happy 
unless  Robert  reforms;  then  the  old  love  and  joy 
would  come  again." 

There  was  on  her  face  an  expression,  in  her  voice 
a  tone,  so  appealing  that  it  inspired  him  to  say : 

"I  will  save  him  by  my  life  if  need  be." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  admiring,  grateful 
gaze: 

"Your  friendship  is  even  better  than  love." 

"That  is  both,"  he  answered. 

"You  will  promise  to  go  away  at  once,  or  I 
cannot  live  near  you  and  without  you." 

"Yes,  Cherokee,  I  promise,"  he  said  firmly,  and 
continued : 

"To-day  fora  short  interval  we  have  belonged  to 
each  other.  Heart  has  spoken  to  heart.  To-mor- 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  191 

row  you  are  only  my  friend's  wife.  Not  a  word, 
not  a  thought  of  yours  or  mine  must  destroy  his 
trust.  Our  past  will  lie  buried  as  in  a  deep  grave, 
no  tears  bedewing  it,  110  flowers  marking  the  spot. ' ' 

So  sorrowfully,  even  despairingly,  were  the  words 
uttered  that  it  seemed  Cherokee's  turn  to  comfort. 

"Think  of  me  as  almost  happy  since  I  know  that 
you  love  me  so."  she  said,  smiling  through  her 
tears. 

"Tears  from  you  for  me,"  he  cried.  "Bless 
you,  bless  you;  may  you  think  of  me  as  one  whose 
loyalty  to  another  is  loyalty  to  yourself,"  he  mur- 
mured. "I  must  go  away  and  meet  you  no  more. 
Pass  a  few  busy,  taskful  years,  come  and  go  a  few 
brief  seasons  of  stimulating  activity  and  wholesome 
intercourse;  then  I  can  hold  out  my  untrembling 
hand  to  Robert's  wife,  and  forget  the  lover  in  the 
friend ;  now  let  us  part. ' ' 

She  stepped  forward  and  extended  her  hand ;  he 
kissed  it  and  pressed  it  warmly,  and  then  the  dream 
was  ended.  A  matter  of  a  moment,  true  enough, 
but  death  itself  is  but  a  moment,  yet  eternity  is  its 
successor. 

Cherokee  took  the  path  to  the  house ;  her  eyes 
held  a  troubled  light  as  they  looked  back,  Marrion 
was  standing  where  she  had  left  him,  in  a  hopeless 
attitude.  His  head  drooped  low  with  a  slow  motion 


192  A   FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

of    despair,   which    seemed    almost  tranquil    in  its 
acceptance  of  destiny. 

A  low,  late  sunshine  crept  through  the  swathing 
blue,  softly  bright  upon  him. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  193 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

TEMPTED. 

For  a  time  Marrion  Latham  stood  in  a  sad  reverie ; 
then  he  slowly  went  back  to  the  house,  following 
the  path  Cherokee  had  taken. 

He  entered  the  house  unobserved,  and  went 
directly  to  his  room,  from  which  he  did  not  emerge 
until  the  clock  told  him  that  the  hour  was  eleven. 
He  was  going  to  leave;  upon  that  point  he  was 
decided.  The  midnight  train  would  take  him  to 
the  city.  He  took  his  grip,  and  crept  out  stealthily 
without  a  word,  for  he  could  not  now  own  what 
was  forcing  him  to  leave.  Of  course  it  would  seem 
strange  to  Robert,  but  written  lines  could  not  clear 
it  up.  It  would  take  more  than  a  note  to  explain 
such  an  offense  as  this  would  seem ;  it  could  only 
be  made  plain  in  person.  It  needed  the  voice,  the 
eye,  the  spirit  breathing  through  the  words  to  make 
them  effective. 


194  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

He  had  decided  to  wait  until  the  artist  returned 
to  New  York.  As  he  stepped  out  on  the  piazza  he 
noticed  that  the  blinds  of  the  studio  were  open  and 
the  window  up. 

"I  will  take  a  last  look,"  he  thought,  as  he  went 
up  to  the  window. 

"Cherokee,  Cherokee,"  but  his  whisper  was  too 
deep,  she  did  not  hear.  There  she  stood  before  the 
painting,  her  arms  wide  open  as  though  ready  to 
enfold  the  image;  then  she  drew  back,  and  her  low 
sobbing  was  heard — not  despair,  not  sorrow,  not 
even  loss  flowed  in  those  relieving  tears — they  came 
as  a  balm,  allowing  the  pent-up  force  of  suffering 
to  ooze  out. 

The  very  purity  of  her  adoration  was  pitiful  to 
see.  Marrion  stood  outside  and  watched  her ;  wrong 
as  it  might  be  to  stay  he  was  tempted  to  bide  the 
result  and  remain. 

Everything  around  was  still;  the  wind,  even, 
ceased  to  dip  into  the  lustrous  gloom  of  the  laurels. 
He  could  scarcely  hear  the  stream  below,  drawing 
its  long  ripples  of  star -kindled  waves  from  the  throat 
of  the  forest.  Not  a  human  sound  interposed  one 
pulse  of  its  beating  between  these  two  silent 
souls. 

"I  must,  I  must  touch  her — just  to  say  good-bye 
again." 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  195 

But  through  the  gentle  silence  there  throbbed  a 
warning.  He  battled  with  it ;  the  mad  desire  grew 
upon  him,  the  stress,  the  self-torture  was  getting 
beyond  control.  Reckless  inconsideration  told  him 
to  enter. 

The  palpitating  misery  that  swayed  through  every 
wave  of  his  blood,  cried  in  almost  an  ecstacy  of 
terror:  "Go  in,  she  is  yours."  He  knew  he 
could  not  resist  what  love  counseled  if  he  remained 
much  longer,  and  he  hung  his  head  for  very 
shame. 

When  a  proud  man  finds  out  he  is  but  a  child  in 
the  midst  of  his  strength,  but  a  fool  in  his  wisdom, 
it  is  humiliating  to  own  it  even  to  himself. 

While  every  passion  held  him  enslaved,  he  felt  a 
vague  desire  to  escape,  a  yearning,  almost  insane, 
to  get  out  from  his  own  self. 

"Why  should  you  not  have  her,  when  you  love 
her  so  dearly?"  the  tempter  asked. 

But  he  knew  the  voice  and  shrank  from  it.  Then 
he  murmured  inwardly : 

"Great  and  good  God,  I  turn  to  you,"  and  before 
he  knew  it,  his  unaccustomed  lips  had  framed  a 
prayer. 

With  a  feeling  of  renewed  strength  he  took  one 
last  look  at  her  and  walked  away.  He  had  scarcely 
time  to  catch  that  midnight  train.  He  was  leaving 


196  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

heaven  behind,  but  he  was  doing  what  was  best  for 
all.  There  was  something  in  that,  and  Robert 
must  never  know  what  his  poor  services  had  cost 
him. 


A  FOOL   IN  SPOTS.  197 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

LOST   FAITH. 

"For  your  own  sake,  if  not  for  mine,  Robert,  do 
not  begin  drinking  the  first  thing  in  the  morning, ' ' 
Cherokee  pleaded. 

"I  must,  I  must;  my  nerves  are  all  shattered. 
I  will  stop  when  I  have  won  the  laurels  of  art," 
and  he  poured  the  fiery  poison  into  the  sugared 
glass. 

"Does  Marrion  know  breakfast  is  waiting?"  he 
asked. 

"I  suppose  not. ' '  Cherokee  felt  her  voice  tremb- 
ling, she  was  almost  certain  he  had  gone;  there 
was  a  dreariness  about  the  place,  an  utter  loneli- 
ness, that  made  her  feel  that  she  would  not^hear  his 
voice  that  morning. 

Robert  touched  the  bell,  and  when  the  servant 
answered,  he  bade  her: 

"Tell  Mr.  Latham  breakfast  is  ready." 

"Mr.   Latham   went   away    in   the    night,",  the 


198  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

servant  answered.  "I  suppose  he  won't  be  back 
soon,  as  he  took  a  grip  with  him." 

In  sudden  temper  Robert  cried:  "You  don't 
mean  it,  has  he  gone  home?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  he  went  towards  the  station 
about  a  half  hour  before  the  New  York  train  was 
due." 

"That  will  do,  leave  us,"  he  ordered  the  maid. 

"Now,  Cherokee,  tell  me  why  Marrion  has  left 
me?" 

"Mr.  Latham  may  prefer  to  make  his  own 
excuse,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

"Never  mind  that  assumed  dignity;  I  know  the 
reason  as  well  as  you  could  tell  me.  This  letter  I 
found  on  the  studio  floor  gives  the  villain  away," 
and  thrusting  it  at  her,  he  demanded:  "Read  it 
aloud." 

She  nervously  unfolded  it  and  read : 

"MY  DEAR  LATHAM  : 

I  presume  you  know  I  too  was  painting  the 
'Athlete.'  My  model  is  a  failure,  a  disappointment. 
Come  to  New  York  at  once,  and  pose  for  me  at 
your  own  price. 

Yours,  anxiously, 

WILLARD  FROST." 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  199 

When  she  finished  the  letter  she  could  not  find 
a  suitable  answer,  so  she  did  not  answer  at  all. 
Robert  did  not  like  silence,  he  liked  to  have  things 
explained,  cleared  up. 

He  looked  at  his  wife  with  grave  severity,  and 
demanded : 

"You  knew  this  was  what  called  him  away." 

"I  did  not,"  was  her  truthful  and  emphatic 
reply. 

"Oh,  God!"  in  a  frenzy,  "just  to  think  how  I 
trusted  him ;  his  word  and  honor  were  dear  to  my 
very  soul;  but  now — now  I  hate  him,  I  curse  him; 
if  I  ever  prayed,  I  might  pray  that  the  train  would 
be  wrecked  and  dash  him  to  his  eternal,  just 
reward. * ' 

"Robert,  Robert!"  the  gentle  voice  pleaded, 
"hold  him  not  guilty  without  defense;  he  is  still 
your  friend. ' ' 

"Hush!  tell  me  nothing.  It  is  a  plain  case  of 
villainy;  he  has  been  bought  off;  he  has  robbed 
me  of  my  future,"  and  Robert  quit  the  table  and 
went  at  once  to  his  room.  The  insanity  of  drink 
held  festival  in  his  delirious  brain. 

The  next  few  hours  found  him  in  a  deplorable 
condition.  The  reaction  from  his  fit  of  inebriety 
had  been  a  severe  shock  to  his  system,  not  espe- 


200  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

cially  strong  at  best,  and  this,  together  with 
Marrion's  sudden  flight,  preyed  sharply  on  his 
mind,  and  he  suffered  a  sort  of  nervous  prostra- 
tion. 

"My  picture!  my  masterpiece  is  unfinished!  it 
can  never  be  finished  without  him ! ' '  was  the  sub  - 
stance  of  his  raving. 

Never  before  had  Cherokee  seen  such  woe  in  his 
countenance.  She  knew  the  painting  was  almost 
completed,  and  that  he  could  finish  it  from  the  pic- 
ture he  had  of  Marrion,  taken  purposely  to  aid  him, 
even  when  the  model  was  there;  but  to  mention 
anything  so  as  to  manage  a  way  out  of  the  pit  into 
which  he  imagined  he  had  fallen  merely  infuriated 
him,  and  did  no  good. 

"Marrion  must  come  back  to  me;  send  for 
him;  tell  him  I  cannot  win  without  him,"  he 
cried,  scarcely  above  a  whisper,  he  was  so  weak. 
Never  before  had  the  one  desire  of  man's  life 
been  strained  through  his  face  and  speech  like 
this. 

Cherokee  was  deeply  moved,  yet  she  could  not 
understand  how  he  could  charge  Marrion  with 
double-dealing  and  treachery,  with  conduct  so 
entirely  at  variance  with  the  whole  tenor  of  his 
gracious  life.  How  could  he  think  that  Willard 
Frost,  that  crafty,  remorseless  villain,  could  pur- 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  201 

chase  the  manhood  of  Marrion  Latham.  If  Robert 
had  only  known  how  much  that  friAd  had  suffered 
and  borne  for  him,  he  would  have  worshipped 
where  he  now  condemned. 

"Cherokee,"  he  called  from  the  bed,  "what  am 
I  to  do?" 

"Rest  and  then  go  to  work;  your  picture  is 
almost  finished;  it  already  shows  the  touch  of  a 
master -hand,  and  it  is  perfect  so  far  as  you  have 
done.  Marrion  had  other  reasons  for  going 
away  from  us ;  believe  me,  he  will  make  it  all 
right. ' ' 

She  was  ever  gentle  and  tender  toward  him,  and 
worked  quietly,  yet  constantly. 


The  task  of  reforming  a  man  takes  a  great  deal 
of  time,  more  than  a  life  has  to  give,  frequently, 
but  she  had  been  strengthened  by  the  promise  from 
Marrion  to  aid  her,  though  now  she  must  bear  it 
alone. 

She  looked  in  the  glass,  and  in  the  depths  of  it 
she  found  not  the  face  that  once  smiled  at  her — ah ! 
that  other  face,  its  wild -rose  bloom  had  faded;  the 
lips  that  used  to  tremble  as  if  with  joy  alive  are 
thinner  now  and  they  do  not  tremble ;  they  are  firm 
and  somewhat  sad.  The  hair  that  used  to  slip  from 


202  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

its  confinement,  and  in  golden  torrents  fall  about 
the  wild -rose*  face,  is  somber -hued,  and  stays 
where  it  is  pinned. 

Ah!   she  knows  what  youth  means  to  a  woman, 
and  that  is  denied  her. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  203 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE   CUP  OF  WRATH   AND   TREMBLING. 

With  the  first  mail  that  Marrion  Latham  received 
after  reaching  New  York  was  a  letter  which  bore 
the  postmark  of  the  small  railway  station  in  Ken- 
tucky from  which  he  had  lately  departed  so  hastily. 
He  opened  it  first,  for  it  was  the  most  important  to 
him.  The  letter  ran : 

"MR.  LATHAM: 

I  have  trusted  you  above  all  other  men,  yet  you 
have  proven  to  be  my  most  hurtful  enemy.  I  was 
surprised  that  you  would  sell  my  friendship,  my 
future,  and,  above  all,  your  own  manhood  to 
Willard  Frost. 

From  this  time  on  I  am  done  with  you— we  are 
strangers.  Enclosed  find  check,  as  I  prefer  not 
being  in  your  debt  for  services  rendered. 

ROBERT  MILBURN." 

Marrion  laid  the  letter  down  with  a  moan;  but 
the  cruel  injustice  of  it  aroused  no  resentment — he 
was  only  stunned  by  it.  After  awhile,  he  felt  tired 


204  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

and  sick,  so  he  lay  down  across  the  foot  of  his  bed 

and  finally  went  to  sleep.     In  his  sleep  nature  had 

>. 

her  way— was  no  longer  held  in  check  by  his  will, 
and  so,  when  his  weary  brain,  his  sad,  unresting 
heart  cried  out  they  could  no  longer  endure,  she 
came  and  gave  them  rest. 

Two  hours  afterward  found  him  somewhat 
refreshed,  but  he  was  sorry  to  have  awakened;  he 
should  have  like"d  to  sleep — that  was  all.  That 
most  vexing  question  kept  repeating  itself  to  him. 
"Why  are  the  best  motives  of  our  lives  turned  into 
wolves,  that  come  back,  ravenous,  to  feed  upon  our 
helpless  and  tortured  selves?" 

Willard  Frost's  letter  had  made  so  slight  an 
impression  upon  him  that,  until  this  reminder,  he 
had  quite  forgotten  it;  had  carelessly  dropped  it 
down,  never  thinking  of  it  again  until  now. 

It  looked  hard,  that  he  had  come  away  to  save 
that  home,  and  then,  to  have  the  head  of  that  home 
confront  him  with  a  pen  picture  of  a  scoundrel 
placarded  "Marrion  Latham." 

It  was  an  unexpected  experiment,  and  an 
astounding  shock.  With  hands  clasped  behind  him 
Marrion  restlessly  paced  the  floor,  trying  to  deter- 
mine what  was  the  best  thing  for  him  to  do. 

He  could  board  the  next  train  and  go  back ;  but 
no,  Cherokee  had  his  promise  that  he  would  stay 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  205 

away.  Besides,  she  had  borne  and  sacrificed  enough 
for  Robert. 

He  could  write ;  but  how  could  he  express  it  on 
cold  paper ;  he  could  wait  a  few  days  and  see  him  in 
person,  for  he  knew  Robert  expected  to  return  when 
the  bloom  of  the  year  was  passed.  That  would  be 
soon,  for  it  was  now  time  for  the  woods  to  be  full 
of  ghosts  who  gather  to  make  lament,  while  winds 
sob  in  minor  key,  and  trees  art?  bowed  in  silent 
woe,  and  leaves,  like  tears,  fall  fast. 

This  was  best ;  so  he  decided  upon  it  to  wait  and 
see  him  in  person. 

His  new  drama  lay  on  the  desk  before  him;  it 
was  in  this  one  Cherokee  figured.  What  better 
way  to  forget  the  slow,  creeping  time,  than  to  go  to 
work ;  he  had  often  said  he  wished  he  were  poor, 
for  the  poor  have  small  time  for  grieving. 

He  did  go  to  work  in  earnest;  each  night 
found  him  brain -weary  after  a  hard  day's  arduous 
task;  it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  have  done. 
The  very  first  morning  he  saw  an  announcement 
of  Milburn's  return  to  the  city  he  dropped  him  a 
line: 

"MY  DEAR  MILBURN  : 

I  have  an  explanation — an  apology  to  make — then 
let  us  be  on  the  old  footing ;  for  without  you  I  am 


206  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

a  lonely  man.     Appoint  a  place  for  an  immediate 
interview   and   let  me  assure  you   that    Frost  had 
nothing  flf  do  with  my  leaving  you. 
I  return  check. 

Yours  very  truly, 

MARRION  LATHAM." 

He  dispatched  this  message,  and  paced  the  floor 
in  a  fever  of  anxiety  until  the  answer  came. 
Quickly  he  snatched  the  envelope,  as  a  starving 
man  breaks  a  crust  of  bread. 

This  is  what  the  letter  said : 

"My  time  is  now  entirely  occupied. 
Respectfully, 

ROBERT  MILBURN." 


A    FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  207 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

A    DROP    OF    POISON. 

Frost  was  succeeding  in  bringing  Robert  Milburn 
into  open  disrepute.  That  he  was,  will  appear  from 
his  statement  of  the  case  to  a  few  friends  who  had 
accompanied  him  into  the  bar  room  of hotel. 

"I  was  saying,  gentlemen,  that  it  is  such  a 
deuced  pity  to  see  Milburn  waste  his  talents,  but 
the  fact  is,  these  self -destructive  excesses  must 
result  in  a  total  wreck.  Am  I  not  right?" 

The  man  appealed  to  nodded  approval. 

"That's  what  you  are." 

' '  I  say  when  a  man  gets  so  that  he  can  walk  up 
to  a  bar  and  take  a  drink  alone,  its  about  time  to 
put  a  bridle  on  him." 

"That's  a  fact,"  assented  a  third;  "and  that 
isn't  all  of  it." 

"No,"  put  in  Frost,  "I  saw  him  driving  up  and 
down  Fifty -eighth  Street  with  the  Morris  woman 
the  other  day,  in  the  early  afternoon.  I  just  told 
him  what  I  thought  about  it. ' ' 

"What  did  he  say?" 


208  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"Oh,  he  flared  up,  and  said  it  was  his  own  affair. ' ' 

"Well,  I  always  thought  Milburn  a  pretty  square 
kiryi  of  a  fellow,"  said  a  quiet  man  who  stood 
leaning  against  a  gilded  column.  "In  that  deal 

with  ' Syndicate' — you  recollect  it,  Frost — 

he  could  have  beaten  the  life  out  of  you,  but  he 
stood  to  you  when  I  know  he  was  offered  double 
commission  to  come  off. ' ' 

"Ah!  nobody  is  saying  anything  against  his 
honesty,"  returned  Willard,  sharply,  "he's  square 
enough,  but  it  is  his  infernal  recklessness.  Now, 
yesterday,  I  sauntered  into  his  office  to  remonstrate. 
I  said,  'Robert,  old  boy,  you  are  getting  yourself 
out  of  everybody's  good  books;  why  don't  you 
brace  up?  The  first  thing  you  know,  you  will  be 
dropped  like  a  hot  nail.'  I  asked  him  why  he 
couldn't  be  a  little  more  modest  about  it,  for 
instance,  I  suggested,  'when  the  spirit  moves  you 
to  take  Morris  out  for  an  airing,  why  wont  a  moon- 
light night  and  a  by-road  answer  the  purpose  as 
well  as  Fifty -eighth  Street  and  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon.'  ' 

"And  what  did  he  say  to  that?" 

"He  held  out  his  cigar  case  to  me  saying,  'You 
are  wasting  your  time,  I  don't  care  to  be  respectably 
wicked,  and  I  choose  to  go  to  the  devil  in  my  own 
way.'" 


A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS.  209 

"Look  here!"  interrupted  the  quiet  man,  "I 
fancy  I  know  Milburn  better  than  most  people,  and 
he  has  a  clean  life  behind  him ;  moreover,  he  thinks 
you  are  the  only  man  on  earth.  I  can't  understand 
how  he  can  deliberately  throw  himself  away,  as 
you  say  he  is  doing.  There  is  a  very  strong  motive 
of  some  kind.  He  is  not  a  man  to  take  to  dissipa- 
tion for  its  own  sake." 

Frost's  eye  twinkled  as  he  turned  abruptly  and 
fronted  the  speaker. 

"Then  you  think  he  has  a  provocation?" 

"He  must  have ;  I've  observed  him  pretty  closely, 
and  there  is  an  underlying  streak  of  good  metal  in 
his  character  that  will  crop  out  at  times.  Say, 
Frost,  have  you  tried  to  help  him?" 

"Always. ' '  An  oppressive  little  silence  followed, 
and  Frost  frowned  as  he  tugged  away  at  his 
mustache.  "But  I  can  do  little  with  him  of  late." 

"it  is  all  very  bad — very  bad,"  said  the  quiet 
man. 

"Though  if  he  did  a  world  of  wrong,  injuring 
every  human  creature  that  came  between  him  and 
his  pleasure,  he  should  not  be  forsaken  by  you — he 
sticks  to  you." 

Every  line  in  the  clear  whiteness  of  Frost's  face 
was  cruelly,  craftily,  and  closely  compressed,  while 
he  stood  looking  at  the  man  whose  words  were  the 


210  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

fine  point  of  a  sword  with  which,  in  delicate  finesse, 
he  ran  him  through  the  body. 

Frost  bent  his  head  in  his  most  courtly  fashion . 

"Milburn  may  not  be  all  at  fault;  you  know  he 
has  a  pretty  wife!"  There  was  a  secrecy  in  his 
smiling  face,  and  he  conveyed  an  air  of  mystery  to 
those  words  that  struck  the  other  forcibly.  At  the 
same  time  the  thin,  straight  lips,  and  the  markings 
in  the  nose,  curved  with  a  sarcasm  that  looked  hand- 
somely diabolic. 

"Come,  what  will  you  have  gentlemen?" 


A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS.  211 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
ROBERT'S  TRIUMPH. 

"Excellent  claret,  Latham,  have  a  glass  with 
me,"  said  the  artist,  Willard  Frost. 

"Thanks,  not  any;  I  have  ordered  a  meal — been 
out  rowing  and  it  makes  a  fellow  deucedly  hungry. ' ' 

It  was  by  the  merest  accident  that  Marrion 
Latham  and  Willard  Frost  had  taken  seats  at  the 
same  table,  in  one  of  New  York's  restaurants. 

To  the  right  of  them,  some  distance  away,  there 
was  a  decorated  table,  covers  laid  for  twelve.  Pretty 
soon  the  party  came  in  and  took  their  seats. 

"By  Jove ! ' '  exclaimed  Latham,  "I  wonder  what's 
up.  There's  Robert  Emmet  Cooper,  Fred  Ryder, 
D.  Kohler,  and  who  is  the  one  at  the  head  of  the 
table?  Well,  upon  my  word,  it  is  Milburn." 

"What  does  all  this  mean?"  inquired  Frost. 

"That  dinner  is  given  to  Mr.  Milburn,"  said  the 
waiter,  "he  is  one  of  the  acknowledged  artists 
now. ' ' 

"What!  you  don't  tell  me  his  'Athlete'  has  been 
accepted  by  the  Commissioners  of  the  Art  Palace  ? ' ' 

"That,  sir,  is  what  the  judges  decided." 


212  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"Strange  I  had  not  heard  the  good  news,  but  I 
am  certainly  proud  of  his  success,"  exclaimed 
Marrion. 

"Well,  I  am  not.  I  despise  him,  the  accursed 
Milburn,"  Frost  hissed  between  his  teeth.  "He 
crossed  me  in  every  path;  niy  luck  quails  before 
his  whenever  we  encounter.  I  say  luck,  for  he 
has  no  genius." 

"There  are  a  number  of  people  mistaken  then, 
for  he  is  rapidly  gaining  reputation."  This  was 
harrowing  to  the  vanity  of  the  other. 

"Yes,  and  it  will  do  him  more  good  than  he 
deserves,  but  he  had  a  big  advantage  in  this." 

"Not  advantage,  Frost,  more  than  that  which 
hard  work  and  skill  bestows." 

"Umph!  You  need  not  defend  him,  for  he  hates 
you,  Latham." 

"That  doesn't  keep  me  from  rejoicing  with  him." 

"Well,  tell  me,  when  did  the  drop  in  the  tem- 
perature of  your  relations  occur?" 

"About  two  months  ago  we  had  a  slight  misun- 
derstanding. ' ' 

"About  his  wife,  I  presume?" 

"About  none  of  your  business,  if  you  will  pardon 
brevity,"  Marrion  answered,  curtly. 

"You  need  not  mind  a  little  thing  like  that.  I 
am  in  the  same  boat. ' ' 


A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS.  213 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  I  am  in  love  with  her,  too;  I 
admire  her  as  cordially  as  I  hate  him. ' '  He  drained 
the  fifth  glass  of  his  genuine  Medoc,  and  went 
on: 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  ravishing  form;  I'll 
swear  she  is  divine. ' ' 

Marrion  appeared  not  to  hear  him ;  he  turned  his 
head  away  as  if  the  other  were  not  speaking.  He 
heard  the  wit  and  gaiety  of  his  club  friends.  Mean- 
while, everybody's  old  acquaintance,  the  devil,  had 
been  spending  a  time  with  Frost,  by  special  invita- 
tion. He  could  only  view  the  other's  triumph; 
and  there  he  sat,  helpless,  consumed  with  impotent 
rage;  a  look  of  ungovernable  fury  distorted  his 
features,  already  flushed  with  madness  and  wine. 
His  upper  lip  curled  at  the  corners,  and  his  eyes 
blazed  like  those  of  an  enraged  tiger,  as  he  mut- 
tered : 

"Robert  Milburn,  you  shall  pay  dearly  for 
this  victory."  Then  he  turned  to  Marrion  and 
said: 

"I  wonder  if  he  would  feel  so  elated  if  he  knew 
how  much  his  wife  thought  of  me?" 

The  other  turned  sharply  and  faced  him : 

"Scoundrel!  dare  to  utter  a  word  against  her, 
and  I'll  crush  the  life  out  of  your  body." 


214  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

Frost  gurgled  a  fiendish  laugh : 

"I  know  you  are  jealous,  but  do  not  be  hasty;  I 
can  prove  what  I  say. ' ' 

"Then,  sir,  you  will  have  to  do  it,  and  if  you 
have  lied,  look  sharp,  for  a  day  of  reckoning  will 
surely  come." 

"She  is  at  my  studio  every  Friday  at  three 
o'clock.  You  know  which  window  looks  in  upon 
my  private  apartments;  watch  that,  and  you  will 
see  her  pass.  Remember  the  time. " 

"That  will  do,"  returned  Marrion,  coldly,  as  he 
arose  to  leave. 

At  that  moment  his  attention  was  attracted 
toward  the  banquet  scene.  •  Milburn  had  been 
called  upon  for  a  speech.  As  a  general  thing  he 
was  a  man  of  a  few  words,  but  when  he  was 
inspired  there  was  no  more  eloquent  talker  than  he. 
He  made  an  individual  mention  of  those  who  had 
substantially  aided  in  this  distinction  he  had 
attained. 

Marrion  listened,  hoping  that  he  would  kindly 
speak  his  name,  but  what  a  tumult  within  stirred 
him  to  pathetic,  unspoken  appeal,  as  the  speech 
ended  without  the  slightest-  reference  to  his  model. 

As  the  enthusiastic  friends  thronged  about  him, 
Marrion  could  not  help  showing  that  he  rejoiced 
with  them. 


A   FOOI,   IN    SPOTS.  *    215 

His  unexpected  appearance  in  their  midst  created 
a  decided  sensation.  He  extended  his  hand  warmly 
to  Robert,  and  said  most  cordially : 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,  too." 

With  a  look  of  intense  loathing  the  artist  waved 
him  away,  and  folding  his  arms  said  coldly : 

"Excuse  me,  sir." 

Some  one  of  the  party  whispered : 

"Don't  mind  that,  Latham ;  Milburn  has  imbibed 
a  little  too  freely. ' ' 


216    «  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

SHADOWING   HER. 

It  had  been  some  months  since  Cherokee  and 
Marrion  had  met.  But  he  still  loved  and  was  guard  - 
ing  her  reputation.  The  little  bit  of  treachery, 
villainy,  or  whatever  Frost  might  have  meant,  he 
proposed  to  see  through. 

It  was  an  awful  day,  that  Friday,  rain  had  been 
falling  since  early  morning.  But  nestling  his  beard- 
less chin  into  the  broad  collar  of  his  storm  coat,  he 
walked  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  from  the 
studio  of  Willard  Frost. 

In  breathless  amazement,  he  saw  a  woman  pass 
by  the  very  window.  She  walked  back  and  forth  a 
time  or  two,  and  then  she  and  Frost  stood  together. 
The  gown  was  violet,  with  gold  trimmings ;  he  had 
seen  "Cherokee  wear  a  dress  like  that ;  but  he  felt 
there  must  be  some  mistake,  or  everyone  is  of  dual 
existence.  By  this  one  woman  he  measured  the 
goodness  of  the  world;  if  there  was  no  truth  in 
her,  then  it  followed  with  him  that  there  was  no 
truth  in  the  world. 


A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS.  217 

When  the  woman,  heavily  veiled  and  warmly 
wrapped,  came  down  the  step  and  turned  down  the 
street,  he  followed  her.  All  that  had  passed  was 
like  a  dim  bewildering  vision.  All  that  he  saw  in 
the  streets  of  the  city — the  faces  he  beheld — all  was 
like  a  monstrous  nightmare.  It  did  not  seem  that 
anything  was  real. 

He  still  shadowed  the  woman  who  went  directly 
to  the  elevated  train,  and  when  they  came  to  the 
station  where  he  knew  Milburn  got  off,  he  anxiously 
watched  the  woman. 

She  got  up,  and,  without  looking  to  right  or  left, 
hurried  out  of  the  coach.  It  had  stopped  raining, 
but  she  raised  her  umbrella  and  went  on. 

Marrion  walked  behind  her  until  there  was  no 
one  near,  then  he  stepped  up : 

"I  must  speak  to  you,"  he  said. 

She  turned  upon  him  an  unmerciful  stare. 

"How  dare  you,  sir?" 

"Forgive  me,  but  I  must  understand  it  all,"  he 
exclaimed,  excitedly. 

"But  what  right  have  you,  Mr.  Latham,  to  shadow 
me,  or  question?" 

"To  save  Robert  Milburn's  home — that's  what. 
I  should  think  you,  who  owe  so  much  to  his  friend- 
ship, would  not  dare  to  do  this."  He  caught  her 
by  the  hand : 


218  A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

"Come  with  me  where  we  can  talk  it  over  alone, 
or  you  will  never  regret  it  but  once,  and  that  once 
will  be  always." 

She  consented  reluctantly,  and  they  walked  off 
together. 

So  complicated  are  the  webs  of  fate,  that  this  step, 
though  hastily  taken,  gained  a  secret  of  the  most 
vital  moment  to  him  and  to  Robert  Milburn. 


A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS.  219 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

GONE. 

It  had  blown  hard  in  the  night,  but  the  wind  had 
dropped  at  dawning,  and  now  the  rising  sun  tinted 
the  cruel  fringe  of  storm  wrack  as  it  dwindled  into 
the  west. 

A  low,  gray  sky,  eaten  to  a  jagged  edge  as  by  a 
fire  torch,  hung  over  the  harbor. 

Eastward,  this  sky  line  was  broken  by  the  spout 
of  foam  when  two  waves  dashed  each  other  into 
spray.  A  heavjr  surf  beat  upon  the  shore.  Marrion 
Latham  stood  watching  the  small  boats  swoop  up 
and  down  the  emerald  valley,  dipping  away 
nor'ward  under  easy  sail.  He  loved  the  water, 
and  when  anything  annoyed  him,  he  had  often 
found  relief  in  its  lullaby.  This  was  one  time  its 
surging  sighs  had  not  soothed  him. 

He  must  see  Robert,  for  his  home  was  in  peril. 
He  turned  from  the  water  front.  Slowly  and 
deliberately  he  walked,  every  step  was  an  effort. 
He  could  not  forget  that  this  man,  for  whom  he  felt 
so  much  concern,  had  refused  to  take  his  hand, 
had  refused  him  a  chance  for  personal  justification. 


220  A    FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 

All  this  he  thought  of,  and  while  love  and  wounded 
pride  were  both  struggling  for  mastery,  he  reached 
the  door  where  he  had  once  been  a  welcomed  and 
an  honored  guest. 

"Is  Mr.  Milburn  in?"  he  asked  of  the  maid  who 
answered  the  bell. 

"No,  sir,  he  left  this  morning  for  Boston;  will 
you  leave  a  message." 

"Oh!  no.  I  shall  wire  him,  if  you  will  give  me 
his  address." 

He  tried  so  hard  to  speak  lightly,  but  lamentably 
failed  in  the  attempt.  Without  being  conscious  of 
it  he  had  spoken  in  almost  an  imploring  tone. 

So  Robert  was  out  of  his  reach;  what  should 
Marrion  do  now?  He  could  not  think;  he  had 
gone  through  so  much  excitement  lately  that  his 
brain  felt  in  a  confused  tangle,  he  was  unable  to 
calculate  coolly ;  one  thing  he  knew,  that  his  mental 
agony  was  beyond  endurance.  In  thought,  word, 
and  deed,  he  had  been  true  to  Robert,  but  that  the 
other  might  never  know  until  the  history  of  man  is 
carried  from  time  to  eternity,  where  none  can  erase 
or  alter  it. 

"Who  was  the  gentleman?"  Mrs.  Milburn 
asked,  when  the  servant  returned. 

"A  friend  of  yours,  but  he  wanted  to  see  your 
husband.  It  was  Mr.  Latham." 


A    FOOL   IN    SPOTS.  221 

"Say,  rather,  an  acquaintance  of  mine,"  was  the 
reply. 

Cherokee  felt  that  she  had  no  such  thing  as  a 
friend.  She  who  had  been  petted  and  admired  saw 
the  change  now;  the  cordial  hand  held  back,  the 
friendly,  confidential  glance  replaced  by  frowns  of 
almost  fierce  suspicion  and  reproach.  She  observed 
a  gradual  but  marked  difference  in  her  friends' 
demeanor  toward  her.  Her  greetings  were  received 
coldly,  though  sometimes  with  scrupulous  polite- 
ness. Groups  began  to  melt  insensibly  away  at  her 
approach,  or  her  advent  was  a  signal  for  dead 
silence. 

The  young  women  were  frigid ;  the  old  ones  were 
more  so,  and  systematically  cut  her  dead,  and  were 
often  heard  to  say:  "They  had  always  thought 
there  was  something  very  queer  about  this  woman. ' ' 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

STORMING  THE  LION'S   DEN. 

It  happened  that  the  very  day  after  Robert's 
return,  he  had  accepted,  for  the  first  time  in  some 
months,  one  of  the  many  invitations  which  Willard 
Frost  had  extended.  He  had  usually  declared  him- 
self in  his  notes  "Already  engaged,"  or  "Sorry 
illness  makes  me  forego  the  pleasure,  etc." 

Designing  Frost,  therefore,  continued  his  invita- 
tions until  Milburn,  from  that  fatality  which  seem- 
ingly regulates  and  controls  us,  accepted  the 
proffered  invitation.  Frost's  apartments  were 
gorgeous.  He  had  made  money  as  well  as  married 
it. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said  to  his  three  guests,  "let 
me  show  you  the  first  success  I  had,"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  baby  face  on  the  wall. 

"That  study  I  sold  for  two  thousand  dollars  to  a 
man  who  had  lost  a  child  about  that  age,  and  he 
had  no  picture  of  it ;  this  he  fancied  looked  very 
much  like  her. ' ' 

"It  is  a  marvelous  face — so  beautiful.  Where 
did  you  get  your  model?"  Robert  asked. 


A    FOOL    IN   SPOTS.  223 

"It  is  iny  own  child." 

"What!  I  did  not  know  you  had  ever  been 
married  until —  Robert  paused  in  awkward 

confusion. 

"Until  I  made  my  recent  'fiaseo,'  laughed 
Frost.  "Well,  whether  I  have  or  not,  the  child's 
mother  died  at  its  birth — that  was  lucky." 

He  saw  how  the  others  looked  at  him  when  he 
made  this  heartless  speech,  so  he  added: 

"You  remember  those  old  stony  hills  of  New 
Hampshire?  Well,  I  was  reared  there,  and  per- 
haps that  accounts  for  so  much  flint  and  grit  in  my 
make  up." 

"But  mine  host,"  Robert  began,  "where  is  the 
other  rare  treat  you  promised — your  latest  portrait, 
that  wears  a  hectic  flush  and  nothing  more?" 

The  others,  who  were  listening  to  the  colloquy 
burst  into  ripples  of  merriment. 

"Ah,  so  I  did  promise,"  and  he  seized  his 
glass,  and  emptied  it  at  a  gulp. 

A  gust  of  cold  mist,  mingled  with  fine  snow, 
puffed  into  the  brilliant  rooms,  and  stirred  the 
stifling  air  that  was  saturated  with  exhalations  of 
spirits  and  tobacco  smoke. 

"And  you  really  would  like  to  see  my  creation — 
'A  Nude  Daughter  of  Our  Land.'  " 


224  A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS. 

"Nothing  would  delight  us  more,"  they  declared. 

He  summoned  the  servant  and  ordered  him  to 
draw  the  curtain  aside. 

The  eager  crowd  caught  his  words  at  once. 

"Yes!   yes!   yes!   draw  the  curtain." 

Robert  watched  eagerly,  while  the  other  guests 
shouted  in  his  ear. 

lyet  us  see !  brave  man ,  let  us  see ! ' ' 

As  they  watched  the  canvas  the  drapery  fell  to 
one  side. 

"My  wife!     Great  God!" 

.Robert  felt  the  horror  stricken  tremor  in  his  own 
exclamation.  There  played  on  Willard  Frost's  face 
a  satanic  smile,  while  a  momentary  exultation 
thrilled  him. 

"She  kindly  posed  for  this,  my  greatest  effort," 
returned  Frost,  still  smiling. 

Robert  controlled  every  muscle  in  his  counte- 
nance; no  fire  broke  from  his  steadfast,  scornful 
eyes;  but  there  was  a  kingly  authority  in  the 
aspect — the  almost  stately  crest  and  power  in  the 
swell  of  the  stern  voice — which  awed  the  lookers 
on. 

With  that  locked  and  rigid  countenance,  with 
arms  folded,  he  stood  confronting  the  other  artist, 
who  advanced  toward  him  with  menancing  brow. 

"Willard  Frost,  this  is  a  lie!   and  I  demand  you 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  225 

to  prove  it.  You  villain!  you  dastard!  you 
coward!  Fall  on  your  knees,  you  cur,  and  ask 
God  to  forgive  you,  lest  you  are  suddenly  called  to 
face  your  black  account. ' ' 

Frost  strove  to  be  scornful,  but  his  lips  trembled, 
and  his  voice  died  in  hollow  murmurs  in  his  breast. 

"Answer  me,  I  demand  proof!"  cried  Robert, 
looking  upon  him  with  a  crushing  and  intense  dis- 
dain. 

"I  know,  Milburn,  you  will  hate  me;  but 
acknowledge,  we  are  at  last  even,"  said  the  other. 

"No!  I  do  not  believe  it!  By  the  eternal 
powers,  my  wife  would  not  stoop  so  low  as  this 
model  indicates.  I  must  have  proof." 

"Then,  sir,  you  shall!"  and  Frost's  eyes  flashed 
a  lightning  glance  of  triumph. 

Gentlemen ,  I  do  not  like  to  bring  you  into  this 
little  unpleasantness,  but  what  do  you  know  of 
this?" 

"We  know  that  Mrs.  Milburn  has  often  beeri  to 
the  studio,  and  we,  moreover,  have  seen  her  when 
you  were  at  wrork  on  the  picture.  But  the  man 
surely  knows  his  own  wife;  this  is  a  speaking 
likeness." 

"Besides,  here's  a  note  where  she  asked  that  the 
matter  be  kept  a  dead  secret. ' ' 

Robert    looked    at    the  paper,  it  was    her  hand- 


226  A   FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

writing;  bearing  no  date,  unfortunately,  or  he 
would  have  known  that  this  was  written  when  she 
was  a  girl,  about  an  entirely  different  picture. 

"Is  that  her  hand,  or  forgery?" 

This  question,  uttered  triumphantly,  and  regarded 
by  all  three  as  a  climax,  fell  flat. 

He  met  their  merciless,  inquisitorial  gaze,  now 
riveted  on  him,  unflinchingly;  while  they  fidgeted, 
cleared  their  throats,  and  interchanged  significant 
looks,  he  stood  motionless;  only  an  unwonted 
pallor,  and  tiny  bead -like  drops  gathering  to  his 
forehead,  betokened  the  intensity  of  the  struggle 
within. 

Looking  again  at  the  note,  he  handed  it  back  to 
one,  saying,  in  a  voice  deliciously  pure: 

"Then  I  am  Christ,  if  she  is  Magdalene.  She  is 
forgiven." 

The  companions  were  taken  back,  they  had 
expected  a  more  complete  victory  for  their  host. 

Presently,  as  if  his  nature  had  nursed  this  crush- 
ing, profound  humiliation  until  it  almost  burst  forth 
in  fury,  he  madly  rushed  toward  the  picture. 

"Whether  she  did  or  did  not  pose  for  it,  I  shall 
rip  the  infernal  thing  from  center  to  circumference. ' ' 

An  indescribable  uproar  arose,  as  he  opened  his 
knife  and  approached  the  picture.  Frost's  clinched 
fist  rose  in  the  air,  and  he  shouted  angrily : 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  227 

"Do  it  and  die!" 

"I  am  no  coward;  I  am  not  afraid  of  your 
threats,"  he  returned  coldly. 

"But  it  is  madness!"  the  other  roared,  "I  am 
surrounded  by  friends;  you  have  none  here." 

"By  heavens  he  has!"  said  a  voice  behind  them. 

"Marrion  Latham!"  came  from  every  tongue. 

"Yes,  and  the  most  unwelcome  guest  you  ever 
entertained.  This  is  all  a  base,  cowardly  lie,  and  I 
came  to  tell  you,"  he  hissed  to  the  others,  as  he 
caught  Robert  by  the  hand. 

"My  friend,"  cried  Robert,  "forgive  me  the 
injustice  I  have  done  you ;  I  could  kneel  and  beg 
it  of  you." 

"I  am  not  warrior,  priest  or  king — only  brother, ' ' 
he  said  earnestly. 

"You  contemptible  cur;  dare  you  say  Cherokee 
Milburn  was  not  my  model  and  my  — " 

"Yes,  I  do  dare;  even  the  first  thing  you  ever 
led  her  into  was  a  deception,  and  the  baby  face  that 
swings  above  you  there  on  the  wall  is  the  same  face 
you  hid  away  when  misfortune  overtook  her — to  die 
in  the  slums — and  that  one  was  your  own  child  ' ' 

"But  I  say,  emphatically,  that  this  is  a  picture  of 
Mrs.  Milburn — the  other  has  nothing  to  do  with 
this,"  cried  the  enraged  artist. 

"And    I    say,  with    the  same  emphasis,  it   is  a 


228  A   FOOL  IN   SPOTS. 

d lie;  the  face  was  made  from  Mrs.  Milburn's 

picture,  and  the  form — you  paid  another  five  hun- 
dred dollars  to  sit  for  it. 

"And  pray,  who  is  this  individual?"  questioned 
Frost,  carelessly. 

"Yes,  who  is  she?"  cried  his  companions. 

The  tumult  became  so  great  that  an  ordinary  tone 
could  not  be  heard  at  all. 

"Who  is  she?     Who  is  she?" 

"Men,  have  patience,  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said 
Marrion,  as  he  leveled  a  revolver  at  the  party. 

"Now,  Robert,  old  boy,  let  the  good  work  go 
on." 

"Bless  you,  Latham,  by  your  help  I  will,"  and 
he  plunged  the  knife  into  the  canvas. 

Frost  uttered  a  tremendous  oath,  and  shouted: 

"I'll  kill  you  both  for  that!" 

"Now,  to  complete  the  scene  we  should  have  the 
real  model  here — would  that  please  you?"  said 
Marrion,  aggravatingly. 

"Yes,  produce  her  if  you  can." 

He  walked  to  the  door  and  opened  it;  no  one 
spoke ;  all  seemed  riveted  to  the  spot. 

Who  should  walk  in  but  Mrs.  Milburn's  maid, 
Annie  Zerner. 

"You  bought  her,  Frost,  but  she  sells  you." 
Then  turning  to  the  woman,  Marrion  asked: 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  229 

"Did  you  pose  for  this  man's  picture?" 

"Yes,  sir,  and " 

A  fierce  glance  from  the  artist,  Willard  Frost, 
kept  her  from  ending  the  sentence. 

"D you!    I'll  finish  you." 

"Wait!"  cried  a  firm,  but  sweet  voice.  Willard 
Frost  stepped  back  in  dismay.  The  doorway 
framed  the  form  and  beautiful,  indignant  face  of 
Cherokee  Milburn. 

She  had  seen  her  maid,  dressed  in  her  clothes, 
join  Marrion  in  the  street  and  had  followed  them. 
She  could  not  doubt  Marrion  Latham's  honor,  and 
her  woman's  instinct — that  almost  unerring  guide 
which  God  has  bestowed  upon  the  sex — told  her  to 
follow. 

One  glance  at  the  assembled  party,  and  another 
at  the  empty  frame  and  the  canvas  that  lay  beside 
it,  and  she  comprehended  the  situation. 

"I  know  you,  Willard  Frost,"  she  said,  with  a 
calmness  that  surprised  herself  as  well  as  all 
present. 

"I  trust  you  have  a  good  opinion  of  me,"  sneered 
the  baffled  scoundrel. 

"I  have  doubted  you,"  she  went  on,  not  heeding 
the  interruption,  "for  two  years,  but  I  never 
thought  you  capable  of  such  as  this."  She  paused 
and  pointed  to  the  canvas  upon  the  floor. 


230  A    FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

"Under  a  false  pretense  you  first  deceived  me; 
you  borrowed  all  the  money  I  had  that  you  might 
make  me  easy  prey  to  your  designs,"  she  contin- 
ued, her  voice  gathering  fulness,  and  swelling  with 
indignation. 

'  'Worst  of  all,  with  a  wickedness  that  devils  might 
admire  and  imitate,  you  sought  my  husband's  ruin, 
by  tempting  him  to  drink.  You  succeeded;  but 
that  your  success  fell  short  of  your  expectation  he 
and  I  have  this  devoted  friend  to  thank, ' '  she  turned 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  Marrion's. 

"You!  always  you!"  shrieked  Frost,  "you  have 
baffled  me  for  the  last  time." 

There  was  a  flash — a  loud  report — and  Marrion 
Latham,  clutching  at  his  breast,  sank  heavily  to 
the  floor.  Without  waiting  to  note  the  full  results 
of  his  terrible  work,  Willard  Frost  rushed  out  into 
the  night. 

"Oh!  my  God!  my  God!  save  him!"  burst 
from  Cherokee's  white,  groaning  lips,  as  she  raised 
her  eyes  and  cried  in  fierce  despair. 

"God  save  you  and  your  home,  is  all  I  ask,"  he 
gasped. 

Robert,  too,  knelt  by  his  side,  crying:  "How 
could  the  foul  traitor  deal  such  a  merciless  blow? 
Friend,  brother,  live  to  see  the  result  of  your  work. 
You  are  my  savior,"  cried  Robert. 


A   FOOL   IN   SPOTS.  231 

"Then  death  is  unutterably  sweet,"  dropped 
from  Marrion's  lips.  He  gazed  imploringly  at 
Cherokee ;  his  power  of  utterance  was  gone ;  he 
could  give  no  answering  pressure  to  the  fond  hands, 
yet  his  last  words  had  filtered  like  a  single  drop  of 
sweet,  through  all  the  sea  of  woe.  While  the  dear 
ones  bent  above,  they  felt  that  in  that  stroke  fierce 
fate  had  spent  her  last  shaft.  There  was  no  drop  of 
worm -wood  left  in  this  bitter,  bitter  cup. 


232  A    FOOL   IN    SPOTS. 


CONCLUSION. 

The  wounded  man  was  removed  to  Robert's 
home.  Tffe  attendant  physician  looked  grave ;  he 
was  dealing  with  a  tremendous  enemy  that  assaulted 
with  sapping  and  draining  of  strength,  with  poison- 
ing of  the  blood  and  brain.  But  he  was  young  and 
fresh  in  his  wrestle  with  evil  in  disease ;  he  had 
the  latest  words  of  science;  he  knew  how  to  work, 
so  he  called  up  all  his  powers,  and  neither  slum- 
bered nor  slept. 

He  left  the  room  for  only  brief  intervals,  and 
allowed  no  one  in  there  except  the  servant.  Occa- 
sionally the  patient  slept,  and  then  he  rested,  too. 
A  whistle  from  a  rushing  train  far  out  in  the  night, 
or  carriages  rolling  home  from  late  pleasures,  were 
welcome  sounds  to  break  the  stillness,  though  how 
foreign  to  Robert  and  Cherokee  they  seemed.  Full 
of  solicitude,  full  of  anxiety,  they  came  to  the  door 
at  all  hours  to  ask  of  the  patient's  condition. 
Time  and  time  again  they  were  turned  away  without 
a  comforting  answer. 


A    FOOL    IN   SPOTS.  233 

At  last,  one  day,  the  physician  told  them  he 
would  live  and  be  himself  in  health  again.  Sweetly 
fell  these  words,  like  dew  on  dying  flowers — their 
hearts'  throbbing  chords  were  softly  soothed. 


They  were  sitting  together  in  their 'own  room. 
Robert's  face  had  greatly  changed. 

"Cherokee,"  he  began,  "it  isn't  long  ago  that  I 
promised,  before  God,  to  love  and  cherish  you 
always.  I  have  learned  that  that  didn't  mean  just 
to-day,  or  a  year  from  to-day.  It  meant  this:  that 
we  must  make  the  fulfillment  of  our  sacred  promise 
to  each  other  the  supreme  effort  of  our  lives,  so 
long  as  we  both  live.  I  know  I  have  erred,  but  I 
promised  Marrion  on  that  terrible  night  that  I 
would  be  a  man.  It  is  two  years,  to-day,  since  he 
risked  his  own  life  to  save  you  and  me.  Tell  me, 
have  I  kept  the  faith  ? ' ' 

He  held  out  his  hand  in  a  half  pleading  gesture ; 
she  put  her's  on  his  shoulders,  and  throwing  her 
head  back  with  the  exuberant  happiness  of  a  child, 
said,  with  enthusiasm: 

'  'You  have !  you  have !  and  I  do — do  love  you. ' ' 
She  glanced  over  his  shoulder  into  the  mirror. 


234  A    FOOL    IN    SPOTS. 

Was  the  bright  face  she  saw  there  her  very  own? 
What  had  become  of  its  sallowness,  its  lines  of 
care,  its  yearning  melancholy? 

A  wave  of  golden  consciousness  sweetly  swept 
her  face.  In  the  fulness  of  contentment,  long  with- 
held, Cherokee's  glad  youth  had  come  back  to 
reward  her  husband. 


THE  END. 


_^rfd^^    .-  -y 


9  ^*f 


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